The Unwinding Circle
by Lilac Alyssa Halliwell
Summary: Some say the prime of life is the worst place to be, because it's the highest point from which to fall. And though this may be true, we are Cato and Clove, and we will not go down without a fight. Canon Ending & Alternate Ending.
1. The Annex

Congratulations!  
Today is your day.  
You're off to Great Places!  
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.  
You have feet in your shoes  
You can steer yourself  
any direction you choose.

- Dr. Seuss

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 64_

"Clove, honey, are you ready yet?" Clove's mother called from the bottom of the staircase. Adjusting the weight of her daughter's messenger bag on her shoulder, she called yet again, "Clove! It takes ten minutes to get to the facility! Do you really want to be late on your first day?"

"I can't find anything to wear," came the delayed response. Mrs. Holloway sighed, lifting the messenger bag off of her shoulder, and grabbed nearly three year old Magnilda from her playpen. Racing up the stairs, she swiftly pushed her eldest daughter's door open to find a war-torn room. Her six-year-old was sitting in the middle of a pile of clothes, pulling more and more clothing out of her drawers desperately.

Clove's mother didn't bother to mention to her distraught daughter that most of these items of clothing were not suitable for training in the first place, including a white dress that Clove had _accidentally_ ruined at a classmate's sixth birthday and spotted pajamas that were probably too small for her now. Setting Magnilda down beside Clove, Mrs. Holloway rummaged through the second drawer and pulled out a pair of play clothes: a pair of green spandex shorts and a black camisole.

"When you're done putting on your outfit, don't forget to put on socks and double knot your shoe laces. You have two minutes, Clove, or your father will hear about this."

The young girl stuck her lip out in a pout.

Rushing down the stairs, Mrs. Holloway hurried into the kitchen and stuffed two juice boxes into Clove's bag and then paused, adding an extra bag of trail mix. Satisfied, she exited the house and opened the car door. Setting down Clove's bag in the passenger seat, she placed her youngest daughter into her car seat, and then returned to the driver's seat. Just as she got comfortable, Clove came running out in her course attire.

Mrs. Holloway couldn't help but smile at her elder daughter, "You look great. Let's get going, hurry now."

Clove jumped into the seat beside Magnilda's car seat and pulled on her seat belt. The three were quiet during the drive, with Mrs. Holloway lost in her own thoughts and Clove trying to memorize every inch of the path from home to the training annex of District Two West's Health and Resource Center.

It was three miles from her home. An eight minute commute.

When she got out of the car, Clove smiled at her mother, who had suddenly tensed. She grabbed her messenger bag out of the front seat and dragged the heavy bag with her into the building, waving off.

Her mother watched near the building and called out, "Clove! Make us-" Mrs. Holloway pursed her lips together. Clove could no longer hear her.

* * *

As Clove entered the building, she noted just how far outwards the building stretched. Overwhelmed by the weight on her shoulder, she dropped her bag to the floor and dragged it with her to the counter, where she stood on her tiptoes and asked, "Mrs, where is the room where we put our stuff, please?"

The woman with glasses looked away from her screen and down over the counter at Clove, and then pointed sternly to the left, "If you're in the entry level course, you have about three minutes before you're late, so you'd best hurry, child."

"Thanks, lady" Clove replied, and began running towards the locker rooms, her bag making unfriendly noises as it dragged along the floor in hasty bumps. After entering the locker room, Clove stared in fascination at the lockers. Opening the nearest locker to her, Clove stuffed her bag inside and slammed the door as tightly as she could to make the bag fit.

Soon enough, Clove ran down the hallway in search of the entry level classroom. Clove toppled over suddenly, hit by something strong, and groaned as she tried to get back up. Looking up, she saw a blur of blonde hair, but sped away, screaming an apology behind her without glancing back to see their reaction. Heaving, she reached the classroom, which had a gray placard nailed to the wall with black ink that announced 'Registered Youth, Level I'

Once inside, Clove observed comfortable gym mats that covered the floor. Taking note of the other twenty or so girls in her class, class C, she sat down a relatively safe distance away from a clustered group of giggling girls. She recognized a few of the girls from her class at school, some she honestly didn't expect to see in training courses, but she kept quiet.

When a measly thirty seconds or so had passed, the door reopened, this time much louder than when Clove entered, and the girls all turned to face their instructors.

The instructors commanded the girls to stand in a line, in which they slowly looked over each girl, making dry observations that most of the girls did not understand. When they reached Clove, she heard various words thrown around, including 'petite' and 'unrefined,' but they moved on to the next girl, who they deemed 'uncoordinated' and several other words Clove didn't fully comprehend. The pigtailed girl's lip quivered, but she bit down hastily, while winding her hands into fists and then unwinding them seconds later. The action made Clove anxious, "stop it!" she finally whispered, and the girl next to her glared.

The girls were assigned spots on the mat where they were to sit when instructors gave presentations, and then were each given a red pin. Clove reads hers, 'RY 64, Level I: Holloway' while the instructors explained the Training Annex's system, "You are in Class C. There are five classes for your cohort. Three male classes and two female classes."

She wondered if she'd stay with the same class each year, as the instructors continued on: from age 6 until 9, they fell under the designation of Registered Youth, and could be permanently dismissed at any time. At the end of level III, should they pass their skills test, they'd be promoted to Intermediate Trainee, where they'd remain until reaping age, and then would be subsequently promoted again following an intensive exam.

The oldest of Clove's instructors then spoke boisterously, "You have been placed in the Year 64 cohort, because each of you will be seven within one year of today _[1]_. Whether that is tomorrow or next summer is not important. What is important is that you work diligently and pay attention. Only two years ago, Enobaria Jamison of Cohort Year 50 won the 62nd annual games. She trained here. If you are talented enough, clever enough, strong enough, one of you may have the opportunity to represent District Two at your very own Hunger Games."

The instructors commanded all the girls to run 10 laps, and in that moment, Clove swore the room grew larger. After the first few laps, several of the girls began to stagger. Almost like a hawk to its prey, the instructors began barking at these girls nastily. Clove kept her pace, and finished after about a half an hour. She certainly wasn't the fastest in her class, but unlike the sobbing girls in the corner, she also wasn't the slowest.

The instructors then told the girls to sit in their spots, while snapping to the crying girls that they could either get into their places or they could leave and not return. Hastily, the girls returned to their spots, and the instructors began giving a display of some basic sparring techniques, including a punch, and a defensive tactic against that punch.

Paired up, the side opposite Clove was told that they would be defending and that they were strictly forbidden from deviating from the technique. Clove groaned to herself when she was paired up with nervous girl from before, but got into position. The instructors then yelled for them to begin, and Clove began punching. They repeated the motion of punching and defense until they were nearly against the wall. Finally somewhat adjusted to the motion, Clove punched one last time and her partner fell to the ground. Immediately, Clove stepped forward and outstretched her arm to her partner.

"You are not to deviate from the technique!" the younger of the instructors ran over and glared directly at Clove, then scoffed at her partner, "What is your name, registered youth?"

"Clo-Clove Holloway" she said, out of breath.

"10 extra laps, Holloway," the instructor snapped, and then turned to her partner, grabbing her by one of her pigtails, "and you?"

"I'm-I really am so-so sorry" she said, wincing at the instructor's warm breaths. She choked a sob when he demanded her name, and quickly squeaked out, "Noemi Winthrop."

"You are dismissed youth Winthrop," the older instructor said in a much calmer tone than his partner. Noemi rose, and quickly ran outside of the room hysterical, "where are those laps, Holloway?" he grit out. Trembling, Clove began her laps around the gym, determined not to stop in fear of retaliation.

* * *

At about one in the afternoon, class is briefly dismissed. Feel much more upbeat, Clove headed toward the lockers, but not before taking several sips of water. She exhaled a small whine when she spilled some on her tank top and thought wistfully about all the things she could be doing instead of training, but this is what she wanted, wasn't it? Mrs. Astrid said she'd be a great candidate one day, and Mrs. promised never to lie to Clove.

Continuing on her path to the locker room, she noticed groups of older students walking and laughing together, then saw a much younger blonde boy sitting against the wall. He looked like he didn't want to be bothered. Clove knew the feeling. She looked at his trail mix enviously and was suddenly very excited to eat her own. It was then that she noticed the teal ribbons on the floor beside the boy.

"Hello," she said, suddenly.

He looked up at her suspiciously, "What do you want?"

She bit her lip nervously.

He turned away from her, eating more of the trail mix, and Clove begged her mind to come up with more dialogue. This became unnecessary, as he snidely remarked, "nice shirt, new kid."

She sat beside him and his glance clearly showed that she was unwelcome, but she chose to ignore that. She pondered to herself for several minutes in silence, aside the blonde boy. The question plagued her and she just had to know, but mother said to be respectful of everyone in the training gym. Clove supposed she could let it slide, but she was still so curious as to why he'd stolen the trail mix from her bag. She hesitated, but softly grabbed the familiar ribbons, her mother's signature ribbons. She hoped her mom was proud.

Finally, she smiled at him and he looked back at her just as suspicious as before, "I can bring you more trail mix tomorrow."

The boy looked up, a ghost of a blush on his face. He scowled at her, but let out a sigh a moment later. He rose, "Well, then you better know how to find me. I'm Cato Elroy, cohort 63." She found it strange that he seemed much less intimidating looking down at her, but it didn't matter, she mused.

"See ya, new kid" he mockingly waved as he walked off, and Clove couldn't help wondering with intrinsic joy if she'd made a possible ally already.

* * *

AN -

**[1]** - Today being July 1st, 64. Students in Clove's cohort have a birth date range of July 2nd, 57 to July 1st, 58.


	2. The Olive Branch

I ran away the day I was born.  
It was because I heard father and mother talking about  
what I was to be when I became a man.

- Peter Pan

* * *

**Recap** / Six year old Clove Holloway began her first day of training at the training annex of District Two's Health and Resource Center. In doing so, she managed to capture her instructors' attention when she exerted just a little too much effort during a practice exercise. During her brief recess period, she met Cato Elroy, a boy in the year above her who had stolen food from her messenger bag.

* * *

Cato yanked off the weighted vest and threw it into the pile with the others. It made a nasty clunking sound on impact and he gave it a hostile expression before leaving the room. As he walked down the hallway, he heard wails from what he presumed were the Level I girls. Discreetly peering in through the window, he noted that none of them were bleeding. Well, not yet anyways. That was more than could be said for Level I boys, who he saw were either scratched, cut, or bruised from their exercises. The unlucky ones, like he had been the previous July, were all three.

It was unfair, Cato thought, that some of the students in Level I were days from turning seven, while others (like himself) had barely turned six their first year. With his birthday having come and gone the past Wednesday, he had finally caught up to many of his peers, but many would turn eight in the following weeks, and soon he'd be behind them again. He'd spent his 7th birthday like how he had spent all the others: watching the Hunger Games with his brother, who, to his credit, had answered his questions as best he could. They had cheered alongside their parents when a favored tribute did well and snarled when they passed.

At the climax of the games, his brother had woken him with his own yawn and had carried Cato protectively to the living room. He then directed Cato to pay special attention to the strategies used in the final four, as he thought that these were the most important. When the boy from District Five gave a running tackle to the girl from District Four, Cato's adrenaline began pumping.

Amalia was going to make this a great show, he was sure of it! Cato found himself groaning when the redhead who had been so brutal the entire games began to cry, desperately begging for her life. The boy from District Five also had begun crying, mumbling apologies through his tears, as he hit her in the stomach with a pointed mace several times without ever looking directly at her.

Mars looked to his younger brother, "It's important to pay attention when defeating your enemies. While it might have been hard for him to watch her die, he only made her death more painful."

Amalia's cannon shot in the middle of Mars' lecture, with Lux Walters being declared the winner of the 64th annual hunger games.

Cato waved off the memory, trying to forget his parents' lament about their tribute bet losing. Grumbling, Cato reached into his pocket only to find a single 25 cent piece, "_food may become scarce in the arena, boy. You must be able survive without it, if you want to ensure your success_." Bitterly, he progressed down the hallway, making note of the various groups of peers. A group of Potential Tributes from Cohort 55 were walking along the path in the opposite direction of him, with the some of the boys snickering and the girls observing him with distaste.

"They get mangier and mangier every year," he heard one say.

Cato stomped away angrily in response, deciding he wouldn't be "mangy" this year. Stepping into the girls locker room, he found to his luck that no one was around. He opened a few lockers, delving into the contents of the bags, and whined at items like sunblock, towels, and even dolls. He shoved those bags back into their lockers with contempt, before nearly tripping on a bag already out of its locker. The messenger bag reminded him of his brother's bag, though this one is blue instead of black. He saw a few juice boxes, extra pairs of socks, and other items up clothes. His curiosity peaking, he snatched up a note in the corner of the bag.

'Clove darling, work hard and play smart. We know you'll continue to make us proud. Love, mama, papa, and Magnilda'

Cato pushed the note back into the bag with a hiss and then grinned when he noted the bags of trail mix. Yes, these snacks were much better than the pieces of cake the other girls' parents have given them, and even better, trail mix wouldn't get him in trouble with his instructors. Doing this 'Clove' girl a favor, he closed her bag and made sure this time it would fit properly into the locker.

He yelped involuntarily when his pin accidentally struck him in the stomach, and pulled it off his shirt hastily. The red pin was new. A token to be treasured, his instructors had said. Being a Level II meant you now held rank over someone, you are no longer at the bottom of the pole, but Cato seemed to think it was all crap. Mars is a Potential Tribute Level II, and he didn't seem too taken by the green button.

* * *

Sitting against the victor's hallway, he fixated on the photos he'd passed by so many times before, but had never paid attention to.

Oh, he'd heard so many stories by now. How Drey Holland of games year 52 had sliced open the District 10 boy's stomach and used his intestines to choke the girl from District 1. How Athena Mansfield of year 54 has dismembered the boy from District 4, piece by piece, and then had carved her name into his forehead. There were others too, less notably violent, like Mina Carrold and Raul Valleo of subsequent years 58 and 59, they'd seemingly stepped out of the spotlight, though he had heard Mina Carrold at his brother's convocation to Potential Tribute, Level I the year before. Their newest victor was Wyatt Almoy, who had won last year. His weapon of choice a sword.

It was strange to really see them like this. In these shots, they seemed so normal. Mina Carrold had dimples and strands of blonde hair she couldn't tame. Enobaria Jamison had a scratch on the tip of her nose, one that Cato had never picked up in her interviews. Drey Holland seemed sincerely charming in his shot, though, he too had his quirks. His teeth were a bit crooked and he had a scar down his neck. In these photos, Cato thought to himself that he wouldn't be surprised to see them walking down these very hallways.

It was after the games that they came home different, looking shinier, cleaner, and sharper. There were other winners too: Brutus Clark, Lyme Welsh, and continuing down into the early 40s. It made Cato wonder, '_what exactly does it take to be a winner?_'

Carefully untying the teal ribbons around the baggies, Cato opened the mix and peered into it hesitantly. Raisins, peanuts, almonds, granola, and even pieces of chocolate. It was perfect, really. Well, except for the almonds, but Cato figured he'd be forgiving this one time. Setting the teal ribbons beside him, he began to indulge himself in the treat. His stomach rumbled at the first bite and he had to hold it from aching more.

The girls from Level I were now exiting their classroom, many looking dreary and worn-out. Other girl's looked ready to run home to their mothers. He wondered for a moment if 'Clove' was one of those girls, before rolling his eyes, and putting them out of his mind. If he could just made it through the next three hours, if he could just make it... The anticipation was killing him, really.

He hears the older students, laughing again as they pass by happily. Their laughs always seem so rough, so different from what he'd seen on the television.

"Hello," he hears right in front of him. Cato looked up with a frown, who was bothering him now?

A little girl, presumably from Level I, was fixated on him, and he couldn't help but become rigid. Her dark locks were fluffy from exposure to sweat, and she had spilled water upon her shirt.

"What do you want?" he inquired, deciding he's in no mood for bawling Level Is on the very first day. They knew what they were getting into. She said nothing and he quickly lost interest, returning to the trail mix. After thirty seconds, she still hadn't left, so in a sneer he remarked, "Nice shirt"

She tried to dry her shirt with her hand, but succeeds only in stretching it. The girl sat to his right, and sighed. Cato tried to make her leave, but his expression seemed to have flown over her head, 'First years' he groaned to himself.

They sat there in silence, and Cato didn't mind, because she wasn't desperate for conversation. She wasn't really bothering him, stopping him from doing anything, so he enjoyed the trail mix and went back to his old mantra. If he can just make it through the next three hours, if he can just make it, then... The little girl grabbed the teal ribbons off the floor and played with it softly. Maybe that's all she wanted. Little girls like ribbons, don't they?

She smiled at him, "I can bring your more trail mix tomorrow." He went cold for a moment. She wasn't going to tell on him, was she? He couldn't afford it.

In hopes she'd keep quite, he gave her his nastiest scowl, but she continued to smile. Sighing, he picked himself up. She was probably harmless. Well, at least for now, and that's all he could do before he was late. Her joy left him in a state of disillusion, he knew better than to trust her, but the girl's joy was too much for him to bear.

"Well, then you better know where to find me," he says cockily, "I'm Cato Elroy, cohort 63."

If he can just make it through the next three hours, if he can just make it, then... He waved off to her hazily, "see ya, new kid."

And suddenly, he felt a lot better already.

* * *

Mars' display was amazing. His technique was good and he came off rather intimidating, considering he's one of the shorter kids in his cohort. He threw an axe to the left, hitting the training dummy straight in the heart, and then swiftly threw one to the right, achieving the same measure. Two boys behind him stepped forward as two elder girls set up a new display. Each boy was then handed a sword by the elder boys, who gave an expectant looked to the performers.

Mars radiated self-confidence and all eyes were glued on the trio as they used the side of the sword to hit the dummy. Once on the right, then on the left, and the dummies came ricocheting back. This was when all three boys in synchronized motion, cleanly sliced the dummies heads off.

Their movements were poetic to Cato, who found this to be almost an art. Certainly more entertaining than the dance team at the school, and equally as precise as the ballet squad. The display continued with other boys replacing Mars and his group of performers. The instructor for Mars' class rose, and elaborated, 'The Hunger Games is just as much about art and technique as it is about cunning and survival. District Two rarely falls short of giving a good show and we're not about to start.'

The boys then displayed hand to hand combat. Cato watched intently, his instructors words echoing with every motion the performers made, and he so desperately wants to do more than just spar, run, and dodge. Not when there are so many other options out there.

The room's silence broke when a small boy from Level I whispered to another excitedly, and an instructor snatches him quickly and takes him outside of the room. When the boy returned, he was clutching his cheek, but sat obediently. Cato figured that boy was lucky, if he had done it during Mars' display, Cato would have let him have it too.

With a weight suddenly on his lap, he looked to his right to see the brown-haired girl from before. She was watching with intrigue as the duo turned dramatically, and the red-haired boy had his knee on the other boy's stomach. They counted until 10 and the redhead was declared the victor of the match. The audience was then dismissed and told to return promptly for class tomorrow at 8AM.

Cato grabbed the rather large bag of trail mix, looking for Mars, but unable to find him.

"I told you I'd bring you more," the brown-haired girl smirks as they exit the display room among the loud, excited chatter.

"Well..." Cato hesitated, but then caved in, "thanks, I guess."

"Don't. I was just doing it so you won't steal my mix. Cause, the next time you do, I'll get you."

It's an empty threat, but he likes her gusto. Unfortunately, he can't stop the soft laugh that comes from his mouth.

"I'll hold you to that, new kid," he grins. Her expression confirms what he already suspected, that she's fun to provoke, and he's sure he'll be seeing a lot of her until she's been dismissed.

"My name is Clove Holloway, blondie, not new kid," she huffs in frustration.

"Already mad and it's only day one. You've got a long way to go," Cato answered back with a smirk. She's about to respond when she sees a woman in the distance, and runs off.

"Don't count me out yet!" she responds, grabbing the woman's hand and exiting hastily.

He sighs, with a half-smile and says to himself, "Wouldn't dream of it."


	3. The Fallout

Me, I'm dishonest, and you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest.  
Honestly, it's the honest ones you have to watch out for.

-Jack Sparrow

* * *

**Recap **/ Seven year old Cato Elroy rested during a brief recess from classes, only to be labeled as 'mangy' by some teenage girls in the annex. Deciding he would no longer be 'mangy,' he stole snacks from a messenger bag in the girl's locker room. To his misfortune, his victim found him and attempted to make conversation before promising to provide him more in the future if he stopped stealing from her. He then attended his thirteen year old brother's demonstration, before receiving his first installment of trail mix.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 66_

As promised, Clove dropped the large bag of trail mix in his locker. Attached to the familiar teal ribbons was a hole-punched note, which she stared at doubtfully, before tearing it off and holding it in the palm of her hand. It wasn't worth it, she decided.

"What's that?" the familiar voice asked. Clove turned hastily, staring up at the growing blonde boy. He wiped his face with a small white towel, and exhaled. Looking at Clove curiously, he swiped the note out of her hand. She protested unhappily, but he opened the note, looking surprised.

_'Good luck today'_

"Thanks Clovey," he said with a cocky grin, pocketing the scrap paper. His grin then widened, "More trail mix? You're the best!" Cato sat on the bleacher adjacent from his locker, patting the bench with hand, his mouth too full to express his thoughts.

Clove huffed, "What would you do without me?" She sighed to herself, unconsciously pulling at the ends of hey ponytail.

"Probably - starve," he answered in between a set of mouthfuls. Clove dismissed his melodramatic response and watched as he happily consumed the snack. She figured it was moments like this that made her alliance with Cato worth it. His boyish smile and innocent disposition were hard to come by. Most of the time, he gave her dirty looks that warned against any direct contact and teased her alongside the other boys in his cohort.

In other words, Clove had no idea why she indulged him.

"Are you nervous?" she inquired, sitting beside him warily. She turned away from him and lifted her messenger bag onto the bench. She grabbed a bag of apple slices and returned her messenger bag to the floor. She ate the first slice slowly, picking at the skin.

"No, but it looks like you are," he rested his hand on Clove's shoulder. At her confused expression, he retracted his hand and raised his eyebrows, "Once you're a Level III, you get to work with weapons-"

"I know that!" she snapped with a look of contempt, "You never stop talking about that stupid sword."

"Swords aren't stup-" he defended.

"They are if you can't get close enough to-"

"That would never happen!" Cato barked back. He simmered for a moment, before pushing her down. His eyes widened when her head made contact with the bleacher. She quickly bounced back, clutching her head with a glare that could kill. He frowned, "Why do you always have to be such a jerk, Clove?"

"Who's the jerk?" she demanded, punching him in the stomach. Cato faltered, and she didn't miss his wince. She waited a moment before asking, "How did you get injured in the stomach while in weapons training, anyways?"

"I-" he paused, unsure of how to answer.

She lifted his shirt hastily, frowning. There was no slicing, no bleeding wound. Instead, he was bruised on the spot she had made impact, but as she noticed, there were several more trailing upwards. It didn't make sense that he could sustain these injuries from weapons training. Close combat, sure, but not weapons training, which she heard included knives, swords, archery, mace, and other more detrimental weapons. It didn't...

"Hey!" he protested, pushing Clove away, though less harshly this time. She didn't miss the expression in his eyes. Cato was worried, and for some reason, that concerned Clove even more.

"Who did this?" she asked finally, looking significantly less angry than before.

"Who cares?" he brushed off, taking a water canister from his locker.

"Who. did. this." she seethed, grabbing the collar of his shirt. Cato didn't fear Clove. She was aggressive, sure, but she didn't even reach 4'0 and barely weighed 50 pounds. She certainly was never going to be a candidate for the hunger games, he knew. Then again... last year's winner was a 14-year-old boy from District IV. Cato certainly hadn't bet on him, but Mars... he seemed to know everything.

"Take a guess, Clove," he responded with a resigned sigh. Cato ran his hands through his hair, looking older than she'd ever seen him, and she couldn't bear it.

"We have to tell someone!" she jumped up, abandoning her snack, and turned towards the left exit. Cato's left hand quickly snatched her right wrist and yanked her back towards him.

"If you even dare, I'll make sure you don't pass your test," he hissed darkly. His grip on her wrist tightened, leaving Clove to struggle. To her credit, she didn't cry, but Cato recognized the look in her eyes. They were never going to be casual friends ever again. They couldn't be, not with his secret hanging in open air.

"It's not fair!" she wailed at him, "training hurts enough and now they're-"

He turned her around and grabbed her other wrist, "Listen, it doesn't matter. Don't-" She struggled harder now, slamming her elbow into his nose. He released her and clutched his now bleeding nose. Clove was now very thankful that some of the defensive techniques from Level I were become useful.

"I won't let them do that to you!" she handed him the white towel, which he snatched from her hands.

"Listen, Year 64, you don't want to know what I'm going to learn as a Intermediate Level I. You think what they do to me is bad? Well, what I'll do to your family will be a lot worse if you don't keep your mouth shut," Cato responded coolly.

Clove glared up at him defiantly, "I'm just-"

"You're going to get your family killed, runt. So, don't even dare, because I always keep my promises."

Clove, finally having enough, balled her fist and punched him as hard as she could. When he crumpled slightly, with a much more noticeable wince than before, she looked down at him with a hostile expression, "You're dumber than I thought."


	4. The Dosage

I never expect to see a perfect work from an imperfect man.

- Alexander Hamilton

* * *

**Recap **/ A little less than two years after their original meeting, Clove and Cato met up in the boy's locker room for Clove to deliver a bi-weekly installment of trail mix. After sensing Clove's tenseness, Cato tried to reach out to her, but in her nervousness she lashed out. When she discovered that Cato's injuries far exceeded that of what a student in training might expect, she assaulted him with a barrage of questions. To avoid the Spanish Inquisition, Cato threatened Clove's family to keep her quiet.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 67_

Cato honestly wondered about his friends' strange fascination with Clove. Why did they always have to pick on her, and why did they always insist on dragging him along? He knew they didn't genuinely dislike her. Well, at least not too much, because they always seemed to cheer for her during her displays, especially during hand-to-hand combat. Too bad they were always fighting a losing battle, because Clove was pretty much beyond hope as far that pursuit went.

So, as they entered the close-combat training room, Cato hung back. He was lucky that Felix was just tall enough to hide him by a few inches.

"Hollowayyyyyy," Felix dragged out with a grin as he made his way to the punching bag Clove was desperately assaulting.

"What do you want, hoodlum?" she grit out through punches.

Felix continued his Cheshire cat grin, carefully running his hand through his sleek black hair. Cato was glad that Clove fared better with weapons than in physical fighting, because she'd be a lost cause otherwise. She kicked the bag, dodging it as its momentum returned the bag in her direction. She panted, leaning slightly on the bag for a moment when it came to a halt.

"You should practice with us. We're much more challenging than a punching bag," Nero offered. The brunette tried his best to be a peacemaker, but failed most of the time as Dicey and Clove did not ever seem to see eye to eye.

"Yeah, but you guys are bigger than me. It's not really a fair fight," Clove shrugged, returning to her punching bag with more vigor. Cato didn't voice his thought that most students in the annex were bigger than her and that the hunger games were certainly not going to be a 'fair fight'

"Cato's the smallest. He'll fight you," Dicey offered quickly. Much too quickly.

"No," the pair responded at once. Clove gave Cato a questioning expression, punching the bag once more, this time with much more force, before turning back to Dicey. Dicey grumbled a few expletives that surprised even Nero, who pulled him an arms length away from Clove. In response, the auburn haired boy gave Nero a glare, before Felix sent him a teasing grin that seemed to say 'down boy'. Felix was enjoying this entirely too much, in Cato's opinion.

"When's your birthday, anyways, Holloway?" Felix asked, punching the bag with much more strength than Clove had been able to muster thus far. Cato's interest was peaked. The only thing he knew about her birthday was that it fell between July 2nd of Year 57 and July 1st of Year 58, these being the requirements for Cohort 64.

"February 4th," she managed, while dodging Felix's rebounding bag. She went in for another punch. Nero bit his lip to stop the expression about to emerge.

"Cato and Dicey are nine too, then" Felix responded with a grin. At Dicey's warning glance, Felix added, "Cato won't be ten until the games, you know."

Clove directed the bag back towards Felix, who casually thrust it towards her. Cato noticed that Clove relaxed her posture, if only just a bit, "I remember when Finnick Odair won the games, it ended the same day as Cato's birthday. My mom was buying dessert to celebrate and his brother had gotten Cato a brownie. June 27th, right?"

Dicey and Felix now looked surprised. Nero nodded, and then responded softly, "I think that's the most you've ever said to us, Clove."

Clove didn't respond back, only kicking the bag this time and giving him an assessing look. Cato couldn't help but cringe at her technique.

Cato wrinkled his nose for a moment and motioned himself closer to Felix and farther from Dicey and Nero, "Why are you in the hand-to-hand combat classroom, anyways?"

"My third quarter examination is over hand-to-hand, and I plan to win."

Dicey smirked, launching himself forward and freeing his arm from Nero's hand. Nearing Clove, he haughtily remarked, "Not if you keep training like that, runt."

Clove gave Dicey a death stare, before suddenly tackling him to the ground. The three boys had to move back to avoid the scene that unfolded in front of them. Once they did, Nero had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter, Felix looked ecstatic, and even Cato couldn't help the lopsided grin on his face as Clove hit Dicey in the jaw.

"I am not a runt!" she squealed out, sounding younger than Cato had ever heard her. He couldn't help but to suppress a smile. Ever since he had called her runt the previous May, he'd used the term occasionally whenever his friends teased her.

Unfortunately, Dicey had a lot less restraint than the rest of the boys, and soon the lax term of annoyance had turned into something else entirely.

Dicey had gained the upper hand and began punching Clove in the stomach. She waved her arms hysterically, finally hitting him on the back of the head. He let her go for a brief second, before pinning her with his elbow, "You won't win, Holloway." He released his elbow, and when she rose upward, he snatched her by the ponytail instead and pulled her towards him, "Try harder! Your combat partner isn't taking you on a picnic!" he complained.

Cato and Nero squint their eyes, furrowing their brows. Felix had finally lost his cocky grin, and also looked rather confused at the whole display. His rested his arm on Cato's shoulder, using him as support.

"Wilder, let me go!" Clove screeched out. He punched her in the teeth, resulting in a sickening mix of blood and saliva. Clove used this opportunity to lean her head forward and slam her forehead into his own. Dicey released her ponytail upon impact and Clove hastily grabbed his neck. Instantaneously, she pressed her fingers against his throat and he collapsed.

Clove panted, desperately trying to catch her breath, while also coughing out blood. 'Well, then...' Cato thought to himself with a smirk.

"Not bad, Holloway," Felix commented approvingly. He went to shake her hand, but she gave him a strange look and exited the room. Nero was now on the floor beside Dicey, gently lifting the unconscious boy onto himself and checking him for a pulse, "you should know better than that, now." he murmured to Dicey.

"Stop babying him," Cato groaned, rolling his eyes at the whole scene. He pushed Felix off of his shoulder, "and you stop being so lazy."

"I have to make sure he's breathing, asshole," Nero responded with loathing expression that reminded him a lot of Clove, "maybe if you paid attention to more than just weapons, you'd know that some injuries are to be treated as quickly as possible."

"Whatever. I'm going to watch the displays. When Dicey stops being a wimp, come find me," Cato left the room with a dissatisfied expression. He yawned a bit, before finding the demonstration room and sitting in the second section, center.

* * *

Watching Clove get into a zen state of synchrony was fascinating. He always pictured her as sharp-tongued and defensive, never this calm. The room was loud at this point, with many of the Level I and IIs sitting nervously. Some of the girls were huddled together, holding hands protectively. When one of the Level Is tried to clutch onto a Level III boy, he pushed her off and then a moment later whispered in her ear. Pouting, she turned away and looked towards the floor instead, withholding tears.

A small group of students came in, but the classroom never surpassed 35 students. It would be a quiet display, much more dignified for Clove.

Cato wondered if Clove still despised him. She had taken a turn in her response to him in the last year. Before their fallout, she would often run into him when delivering the trail mix and would try to make small conversation. Unfortunately, Clove had made the mistake of assuming a reciprocal relationship and when his friends had decided she was their newest target, he was forced into the awkward position of blowing her off.

After their fallout, she seemed to only deliver the mix when he wasn't around. There were no more notes, no more ribbons, just a black twist that held the bag together. The first delivery after their fallout, Cato had been wary of her intentions, refusing to eat the mix. It could have not been a worse time to make that choice, however, as Cato's parents had forced him on a 10-day fast for the beginning rituals of the 66th hunger games. He'd been eight, then.

At least that time he was granted water.

He made it about three days before agreeing to eat a handful of the mix. If it was poisoned, then the damage would be much less significant than if he ate his normal amount. Still, Cato went to bed that night chastising himself for being so weak-willed.

The next morning, when he woke up, the longing in his stomach had dulled a bit. After being grateful that he was still alive, Cato's emotions seemed to go in another direction entirely.

"Clove," he had murmured to himself. His chest now felt heavy and he could only hope his nerves would relax as he went to his last week of training for Level III. As he dressed for the day, he noticed some of the bruises had faded. He took a handful of the mix from the heavy bag and swallowed, then refilled the small baggie he kept in his closet. Pushing the bag of mix as far back into the closet as he could, Cato pulled the door to a close and left for the day.

He had struggled several times to approach her, but it never seemed right. Once, his friends had caught sight of her first and had teased her for a few moments. Another time, Clove had been practicing archery and he hadn't want to be anywhere near her with that aim. The last time he'd tried to approach her, she had found him first and announced with a glare that she hadn't told anyone and that he could stop trying to scare her by following her around.

Now, as Cato watched Clove make her way to the center to begin the display, he could only wonder if she'd be able to replicate her match against Dicey. Her sparring partner for this display was a boy from her cohort, who was about an inch or two taller than Cato, making him about average height, and was decently muscular, though not as much as some of other boys in the Year 64 cohort. As their instructor began introductions, Cato learned that Clove's competitor was Lyon Owens, and that he was a 4th year in primary school. That placed him in the same grade as Cato, and meant that he was one of the oldest students in the Year 64 cohort.

The hand-to-hand combat began with a set of punches from Lyon. Clove made it look easy as she dodged most of blows, though the last one grazed her cheek. She ducked down and directed her fist into his stomach. He arched forward in response, and used his arm to hit her neck. As she struggled for a breath, he pushed her to the ground. He then punched her in the teeth a few times.

The small girl only laid there for but a moment, her face caked in blood. As Clove rose, Lyon's face contorted into rage, "Why won't you give up?" he demanded, then aimed his fist for her stomach, but instead made impact with her shoulder blade.

Forming a defensive curl, Clove motioned her arms into an intersection at her wrists. She then extended her arms in opposite directions in quick motion, smacking Lyon directly into the face. As he fell to the mat, Clove rose. She reached down and pulled the boy by the collar of his shirt and then threw him over her shoulder in the opposite direction.

Cato heard a gasp in front of him. Catching her breath, Clove held onto her knee for a moment.

Bad decision. Lyon tackled her to the ground, and began to punch her in the face. He made impact with her cheekbones, sometimes even her forehead, but his fixation seemed to be on her nose. He stared at it with unfathomable fascination as its appearance changed with every punch.

One punch for the time Cato begged for dinner as his parents ate after he hadn't achieved first place in the Year 65 case show.  
A second punch for when Mars told his parents he was going to watch the games with Ryden and they threatened to reveal his boyfriend's sexuality to his parents.  
A third punch for the day when Nero was attacked by the boys in the Year 60 cohort when he made sure that Felix was safe following his mace demonstration.  
A fourth punch for the - Shit.

The boy continued his pattern, now in a daze as he repeats the motion.

"Get off of her, freak!" Cato demanded with a guttural scream. He ran forward and punched Lyon off of her, giving him an expression of absolute revulsion, before lifting Clove into his arms and leaving the room. The instructor had an irritated expression, but only called the next two students for their display.

Clove was desperately gasping for air and Cato couldn't think. What was he supposed to do? He rushed into a bathroom, not really sure which gender it belonged to, and set Clove on the sink counter.

Her breathing was still dire, and Clove looked anything unlike what he remembered her as. Her cheeks are swollen, with blood gushing out her displaced nose. Everything was wrong, so out of place - Cato ran his hands through his hair anxiously, tears threatening to spill, "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" - except her eyes, that were now piercing his soul.

"Why-" she began, but started coughing once again.

"You don't do that!" he asserted, looking distraught and so vulnerable that it scared her.

"I thought you hated me," she admitted in a croak, and Cato looked at her with a frown. He'd messed it all up, and all he could think was that his chest felt heavy like the morning after he broke his three-day fast with Clove's mix. This was all so unbearable. Even worse, Clove now had tears streaming down her face. He'd really messed it all up.

Cato pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her, and brought the crown of her head to his nose. With a stilted breath, he murmured, "I could never hate you, Clove."

His breathing relaxed and he grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser. Soaking it with water, he began to rub the blood off of Clove's face. He repeated the process a few times until most of the blood was off of her face. This took a while, but Cato was as patient as he could be.

Once he's done, he offered his hand for her to jump off the counter. The two traveled to the medical annex of District Two's Health and Resource Center. The good news, the doctor told them, was that her nose will heal. The bad news was that it was going to be a slow process, and not particularly enjoyable when she tried to sleep.

As the two exit the center, Clove grabbed Cato's arm. She gathered herself, and then said, "You shouldn't have helped me." Cato was offended at the assessment and opened his mouth to retaliate. Clove quickly rose her arm towards his mouth and held his lips together. In a softer voice, she remarked, "but I'm glad you did."

When she released his lips, he looked dumbfounded. She walked ahead of him, then turned back to him with a huff, "Get that stupid look off your face and let's go."

Cato smiled. Clove didn't hate him. There may be hope for him yet.


	5. The Lesson My Mother Taught Me

"Beginning is easy. Continuing is hard."  
-Japanese proverb

* * *

**Recap **/ About nine months after threatening Clove to keep her quiet, Cato's friends found Clove practicing for her third quarter demonstration in hand-to-hand combat. They offered to train with her, but Clove refused them. When Cato's friend Dicey made one comment too many, Clove assaulted him and the two began their own version of hand-to-hand combat, with Clove as an underdog winner. Clove then went on to fight valiantly in her demonstration until her competitor began to demolish her face. No longer able to take seeing Clove hurt, Cato rushed to stage and pulled her away. The two then had a brief reconciliation.

* * *

"How'd your little friend's demonstration go?" Mars inquires as he joins Cato in the center room's couch. Cato shrugs, pulling off his training shoes and stuffing them into his forest green duffle bag and zipping it up. He rubs his forehead softly in a repeating motion, leaving Mars to wonder how long it takes capitol medicine to relieve headaches. Probably within seconds, he reasons.

"She's not my friend- she's..." Cato pauses, now frustrated. What were he and Clove?

"She's been single-handedly feeding you for the last three years. If that's not enough to be your friend, then even I wouldn't want to be your friend, buddy." Mars runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair, letting out a sigh. With a sly grin, he remarks, "Hey, maybe she's your other half."

"Clove is nine," Cato reminds his absent-minded brother, closing his eyes. They were allies, at least, right?

"Hate to break it to you, but _so are you,_" Mars responds with a small laugh. He lays back against the couch and lazily retorts, "Maybe when you're sixteen too, the two of you will be making the rounds."

"When I'm sixteen, I'll be in intensive training, and Clove will be the last thing on my mind," Cato remarks dismissively, "Besides, all we do is fight anyways."

"Which really doesn't separate you much from the pairs in my cohort, then," Mars says wearily.

"Where's Ryden, anyways?" Cato frowns, looking at Mars' torn jersey, "You're lucky that you're on the selection committee so they give you all those free things."

"The two of us had an altercation in which I was the winner," Mars says shortly. Cato knows there is more to the story than that, especially when considering that Ryden was a good three inches taller and forty pounds heavier than Mars on his best days. It didn't bother him either way, though. Ryden can do whatever he wants in that mansion of his, "The demonstration instructors didn't seem too happy with you, though. What did you do? They kept clucking at me as if I'm your mother."

"You're a better-" Cato begins, now irritated. He falters when he receives a punch to the chest that leaves him wheezing, "MARS!" he gasps out, angrily.

"Don't even finish that sentence. Don't be so blatant in your disregard," Mars snaps, his green eyes gleaming dangerously. He picks Cato up by the collar of his shirt and grits out, "You know better by now than to be so careless." Mars drops him to floor and nudges him towards his room with his shoe.

"Why do you even bother?" Cato seethes, sending Mars a murderous look.

"Cato," Mars warns with a tone of finality in his voice.

"You're-" the boys stop at the sound of an unlocking door. Immediately, both boys stand up straight. Cato grabs his assessment card from the table, and clutches it firmly as his mother enters the room. Her blonde hair wound unnaturally in curls. She places her work carrier on the counter and looks at both boys with a sharp expression.

"Hello mo-" Mars begins politely.

"Assessment cards, boys," she demands coolly and extends her left hand expectantly. Mars avoids his mother's gaze, instead fixating on the frame on the wall behind her. He hesitantly hands her the 6x6 card and averts his gaze. Cato thrusts his hand forward and Mrs. Elroy snatches the card with a look of contempt at her youngest son.

She glances over the cards with small exclamations, "This report says your friend Ryden topped you in evasive and defensive combat. Would you care to explain that, Mars?"

Mars ignores the fact that his mother insists Ryden is only his friend until she uses their relationship to exploit him, "I have scheduled private sessions in defensive combat for Tuesday afternoon. Ryden is the top of our cohort in evasive combat, but I have lead the group in swordsmanship and survival tactics."

"But the both of you are performing dismally in long-range weaponry," she clucks, looking on at them coldly.

"I'm doing better at hand-to-hand combat," Cato offers, sounding rather hopeless, "and I'm not bad at swordsmanship either."

"You're in third place, that's hardly better."

"I'm the youngest in my entire cohort and I'm not going to get any stronger if you continue to starve me! How am supposed to win if I'm smaller than all of my competitors?" Cato responds indignantly. Mars quickly pulls Cato behind him and grabs his wrist, fixing it into a stronghold.

"Oh darling, you misunderstand. You aren't weak because we do not overindulge you," mother says sweetly. Mars inches closer to Cato, "You are weak because you are not strong-willed enough. Mars maintains same the regimen as you, after all, and he performs much better."

"You may be terribly disappointing," their mother continues, lifting Mars chin up to her, "but at least you don't make excuses."

Cato is shaking, still frustrated. Mars' grip on his wrist has only deepened and it takes all he can not to cry out.

"You are dismissed," their mother returns to her icy tone as she turns to Mars, "I expect top marks next week. Do not embarrass me."

As soon as Mars releases his wrist, Cato trembles, but only slightly. Mars only squeezes his hand gently in return, before leaving for his own room. The walls around Cato seemed to close in as their mother fills the gap that been occupied by Mars. "I-i-" Cato begins, but stops once he realizes he doesn't know what to say.

Mother pulls a small rod out of her pocket, which she extends by dragging the top piece outwards. With a satisfied expression, she asks, "Cato, darling, why ever do you believe we're starving you?" He's seen this method of communication before, usually from worn-out nurses chastising children for scraping their knees, or from teachers who feel they've repeated themselves one too many times. His mother's expression is one of exhaustive contempt.

He heeds Mars' warning a few minutes too late, 'Don't be so blatant in your disregard.'

Cato stands silently, trapped. If he answers his mother's questions, she may lash out. If he continues to avoid her, she definitely will. Her green eyes sparkle, glimmering intensely with anticipation. He lowers his head, what... what can he do? His stomach churns, and the dizziness returns.

"I'm sorry!" he cries out for the second time today. He bites his cheek anxiously. He figures at this point that he'll do anything to avoid... No! He's much too old for tears, much too old for this display of cowardice. A true soldier is resilient and assertive, demanding respect from Panem as they serve their country dutifully. A true soldier is not a slobbering, sobbing toddler.

"That's all I wanted to hear," mother says sweetly, and then THWACK! The yellow rod makes contact with his cheek, leaving behind a red mark in its wake. He doesn't dare move, though he desperately wants to soothe his cheek, "Now, I will prepare you dinner and you will stop insisting that I starve you. Honestly, it's undignified to be so histrionic."

His mother heads for the kitchen, unlocking the cupboards as she fishes around for a pot. Cato stares at her for a moment, before slowly reaching into his school bag and withdrawing his notebook. He opens the textbook in front of him, skimming to the page he needs. Reading over a small bit of text, he opens his school notebook. On the inside of the cover is a taped piece of white paper, with the words 'good luck today' inscribed.

After a few minutes of working on his assignment, Cato turns slightly to watch his mother working with smile. He turns back to his work and wonders what it would take to make that smile permanent, what it would take to make her happy.

In his pondering, he never sees it coming. 'It burns,' is all he can process after a moment or two. Cato cries out, falling to the floor, and upon impact yelps again. Her voice is distorted, he can't understand- why did she do this to him?

He hears the smile in her tone, as she remarks, "Since you're obviously not too keen with your strategy courses, judging by your marks, here are a few tips: never turn your back to a potential danger, and remember darling, everyone is a potential danger." She saunters off with an amused cackle, and although Cato would like to do nothing but lie there forever, he begrudgingly lifts himself off the soaked tiles.

He falls to the floor again after a moment, and chokes a sob. Cato drags himself to his room on all fours, castigating himself as he imagines himself to be an admonished dog. It takes him almost fifteen minutes to make it the 20 feet from the kitchen table to his door, but when finally hits the carpet, he lets his grief overtake him with a sob.

* * *

Cato awakens sometime later, realizing that he's in his bed. What happened, he wonders. Did he fall asleep doing schoolwork? His eyes flutter open, and he rises, suddenly overwhelmed by pain. Biting down on his lip, he remains as still as possible, "It's going to hurt for awhile, so try to relax."

Mars voice is restrained, but sounds different. His voice has a slight rasp to it that reminds him of when Nero had a cold, back in January. Cato fixates on the wall in front of him, where a framed poster from the 62nd hunger games hangs ominously. The close up of Enobaria Jamison, with her teeth sunk into the throat of her last contender makes his stomach clench.

"You're not relaxing," the stern voice reprimands.

Cato closes his eyes and Mars' subsequent words become more difficult to comprehend, but the hand stroking his hair soothes him. In several minutes time, it shakes, "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect you."

That can't be right, can it? Mars is one of the strongest students in his entire cohort. Wha-what happened?

* * *

As soon as the bell dismisses the class, Dicey is at Cato's side. The boys trudge along as they exit the school building. Side by side, they look similar. They're both small for their age, though Cato has a bit more muscle, but what really distinguishes them is the manner in their stance and coloring, "You don't look good. Did the trainers discipline you for helping Clove?"

"No," Cato says, looking at the open dirt road path that lies in front of them, "I left before they could."

Dicey grabs Cato's duffle bag from his hands, and walks a little faster. The auburn-haired boy turns back to Cato, watching him with an easy expression, "I'm not allowed to attend any more of the Year 64 showcases anymore. My grandfather says there's no point in studying what you've already mastered, and mom always listens to him."

"And he thinks you've mastered hand-to-hand combat?" Cato asks, his backpack bouncing with him as he begins to laugh. The sun warms the two as they leave the path and descend into the heart of District Two West. Cars pass, stopping at streetlights, and the duo crosses the street.

"He would have lost his mind if he knew I lost to a Level III," Dicey grins, rearranging the weight of his and Cato's bags as they make their way past a crowd of quarry workers on drinking hour.

"And you're not upset that she bested you?" Cato responds, elbowing him slightly. At his wince, Cato creates a gap of space between the two of them.

"Why should I be? It'll never happen again, and she taught me a few things. One, it's best not to underestimate your enemy. Two, there's more to close combat than fists and kicks. And three, that while it's important to know your enemy's movements, it's more important to know their state of mind."

"Is that why Nero tends to you so much? because you're not such an idiot underneath it all?"

Dicey's only response is a punch to the back of Cato's shoulders. When Cato grimaces, hissing out of few choice words, Dicey remarks, "No, Nero's just the best strategist of us all. He knows the easiest way to become a threat to someone is to dig yourself under their skin."


	6. The Novel

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die.

- Leonardo Da Vinci

* * *

**Recap **/ Cato and his elder brother discussed the relationship between him and Clove, with Cato unsure of exactly what the state of their relationship was. Mrs. Elroy arrived home, demanding the two boys' assessment cards before chastising Cato about his unsatisfactory performance. Cato then had an outburst in which he suggested that his lacking performance was due to the strict dietary regimen his parents has place him on. Irritated, Mrs. Elroy promised to prepare him food and Cato began his schoolwork. Within minutes, his mother assaulted him with a pot of boiling water and left him there with an important message: everyone is a potential danger.

* * *

She had done it. Three times in a row with a nice "thwack" each time. Then, another subsequent five times. The routine continued until she had hit the target around 30 times. Clove had to bite her lip to stop the squeal on the tip of her tongue, lest an instructor catch her and castigate her cockiness. No, she wouldn't let that happen. Mommy wouldn't be too happy to hear that she'd been causing trouble. Oh, she couldn't wait to show her and daddy just what she could do.

In the reflection of a glass panel to her left, she could make him out. He was out of his training attire, now wearing a short-sleeved orange tee and darkened jeans. She didn't even bother to turn towards the blonde boy as he entered through the transparent glass doors, "whatcha doin' here?"

"I'm not ready to go home yet," Cato answered with a look of exhaustion. He remained in place, holding his school bag by a single strap, "You mind?"

Clove shook her head slightly as the boy slid lazily against the the wall. As Cato dug through his bag, Clove aimed the throwing knife as she steadied herself, and then released it.

Cato raised his head from the bag, pulling out a small, dusty novel with a slightly torn cover. He glanced at the pigtailed girl, and softly murmured, "Nice work, Clovey" before returning to his book.

She remained in the same position, retrieving a second knife from her belt. As she continued to throw the knives, Cato began reading a tale of a historic time period before the existent of Panem. As he made his way through the first few chapters, the novel described the western portion of North America, what Panem had once been, before it had developed into its current state of glory. According to his teacher, District 2 had been split between what formerly was called Arizona and Utah.

Calmed by consistent thwacks, he delved further into the piece. The outlaws were vicious, constantly drinking, swearing, and pillaging. Instead of swords or spears, though, they used guns as their weapon of choice. Cato snorted. Maybe he had overestimated the capabilities of these men. Admittedly, he'd never seen a gun in person, but he knew they were manufactured in the northern part of District 2. It didn't take much talent to manage a firearm, he lamented.

The central character, James Phillips, was traveling to the old west to mine gold. Cato wondered if that was as dangerous and unrewarding as the stone mining his family did. James Phillips wanted to save enough money, then bring his expecting wife and young son to settle in California. On a map, California fell where District III now occupied. Of course, James Phillips wasn't very bright. He was constantly conned out of his earnings, which made Cato want to throw the book as far away from himself as possible.

Cato brought his knees to his chest and watched Clove intently. Clove's endurance slowly ran thin, resulting in less and less accuracy with each shot. Cato could relate, but right now it was hard to keep his concentration, so instead he fixated on the floor until it darkened slowly.

Clove pursed her lips together in dissatisfaction. When she decided to retire, she left the room quietly. In an instant, she returned in normal attire, with her messenger bag hanging on her shoulder. Unlike Cato and some of his friends, she never had to worry about her school bag as it went home with Magnilda at the end of the school day.

Sitting across from the slumbering boy, Clove opened her bag and withdrew a sandwich. She nibbled quietly and swallowed when she noticed the boy's features tighten as he grimaced. Clove knew he was in pain. That much was apparent to the more astute students in the younger cohorts. She loathed him for being so weak, but hated herself even more for caring. With a scowl, she moved a short stray piece of hair in Cato's face and quietly studied him. He was pathetic. Who fell asleep this early in the day?

"Cato," she called as quietly as she possible could. He moved slightly and emitted a yawn, blinking a few times times before forcing his eyes open.  
He placed his hands onto his face, working to rub the sleep out of his eyes. He returned her glare, but accepted the half-sandwich from her and devoured it rather quickly, "The last time I made a sandwich for someone else was when mommy was pregnant with Magnie, and you look like you could use a few more sandwiches..."

"Shut up, Clove. I'm just as strong as anyone else!" he refuted, now a defensive tone in his usually cocky pitch. His angry expression was quickly lost and replaced by a look of nausea. Cato rubbed his stomach, looking about ready to regurgitate all that he had eaten and this only served further to bother Clove.

"Eat slower next time!" she quipped, and then barked, "I didn't do anything to-"

Cato shook his head, "Happens every time I eat meat."

"Are you trying a flier diet? I don't think that's healthy for someone training in hand-to-hand combat and swordsmanship," she rooted through her bag until she found a folded paper bag, "If you get too sick, you can use that." The suggestive tone in her voice was negated by harsh expression in her eyes.

Cato knew he wouldn't sustain very long on a flier's diet. Fliers were tributes in the training annex who took a strategy of speed, stealth, and long-distance weaponry. They consumed a plant-based diet, supported mostly by grains. Supposedly, this made them more agile, as the theory was that consumption of heavy food would slow them down. "I don't get a lot of opportunities to eat meat, so I've never been able to hold much down when I do."

She stopped the near-smile that emerged when she saw his expression of gratitude after she had handed him an orange from her bag, "Picked a few myself."

"I like grapes best, but they're too costly. Apples aren't bad either, but it's melons I can't stand," Cato pulled the skin apart and took his first bite. Clove knows it's late now, about 7:00. She hopes Cato won't continue his irrelevant monologue for too long. He took a deep breath and quietly added, "They don't let me eat, that's why I'm the worst in my cohort."

She knows that she's missing the point, but she makes the observation anyway, "You're not the worst in your cohort." She then frowned, pulling unconsciously at her shoelaces that were lightly coated in residue. This time, Clove wouldn't dare call out the injustice of it all. Even on his better days, Cato was still lethal. She had no desire to see him prove this.

He cracked a smile at her hesitance. Quickly masking the expression, he instructed, "Don't feel bad for me. It's the worst when people underestimate you."

And finally, Clove was able to connect to Cato.

"When you go into the games, you're going to show them just how stupid they were for doing that," his expression of surprise too slowly masked, allowed Clove to give him an easy grin and continue, "You'll have more than just training on your side. You've survived more than they could ever imagine," she smirked for a moment, then innocently added, "If they underestimate me, they'll find themselves on the wrong side of a knife. Perhaps I'll pull an Athena Mansfield and turn them into a true work of art."

Cato smirked in return. As Dicey had said, it's critical not to underestimate your opponents.

The pair sit in silence, leaning against the glass wall together. Cato understands that when he wins that he will live a home in the Victor's Village. Mother will finally see how hard he's worked for her. She'll move out of Mars' home in the Victor's Village and into his, doting on him with affection. He'll bring pride to her and to the rest of District II, and if the other tributes dare to get in his way, they'll be dead before they make a single movement.


	7. The Deceiver

Se non è vero, è ben trovato.  
(If it's a lie, at least it's well put)

- Italian proverb

* * *

**Recap **/ A few days after Mrs. Elroy's assault on Cato, he became evasive of home and had begun staying later at the annex. To fill his time, he spent the latter portion of the day by observing Clove throw knives and reading a novel on the Old West. In doing so, Cato discovered that District II lied where the states of Arizona and Utah once were. After Clove offered him some of her sandwich, she realized how poor quality his diet was that he couldn't even eat meat without getting sick. The two then discussed their aspirations as victors of the games.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 68_

When Ellery Watson entered her room at the Health and Resource's medical annex, Clove gave her a questioning look. She didn't want guests, and she didn't know this girl very well either. So what was the the fourteen year old doing here? Ellery's light brown hair had been styled in an intricate manner, which Clove assumed meant she wasn't here for training, "You're in the wrong room."

As Ellery approached, Clove noted how just how tall she was. She also couldn't help but notice how subtle the toning in her muscle was. Most of the Potential Tribute II girls fell into three categories: lithe and quick, muscular and combat-oriented, or small and defense-oriented. The brunette before her would normally fit into the category of a flier, but Clove could tell that probably wouldn't be her approach if she ever did win the opportunity to enter the games.

"I can't believe he actually did it," Ellery smirked, looking very self-satisfied despite her expression of disbelief, "Oh, what a spectacular finding!"

"What are you blathering about?" Clove glared, clutching tightly to the off-white blanket draped over her legs.

"You made the mistake of spraining Paxton's arm." Ellery managed, her pleasant demeanor gone. The girl approached her with a murderous look, looking about ready to strangle her.

"I had meant to break it," Clove frowned, musing to herself about the threatening teen that stood before her. When she realized just how close Ellery was, she retrieved a small knife from beneath the sheets, "Get any closer and I'll give you the honor of being my first kill. Then, we'll follow with your sister and the training annex will finally be free of the Watson family."

Ellery neared her ever more, this time yanking Clove's head towards her by a clump of Clove's hair, "You know Clover, I too have a signature weapon and when I do decide to eliminate you, it'll be clean-cut and perfectly legal." the girl smiled sickeningly sweet. Clove hissed at the girl, then made an uncoordinated slash against Ellery's forearm.

The older girl only gave her a smirk in response, "Those Year 63 boys really are stupid." After releasing Clove, she continued on dramatically, "My parents have always thought it a waste to attend courses here. They don't think I can learn anything here that I couldn't learn from a more esteemed center closer to home. Oh, but they're wrong. I've learned so much in the last day alone." She paused, and then presented a question, "Why put forth the effort to create something, when someone else so much less valuable than yourself can do it for you?"

Clove was reminded of the remark that Paxton have given the previous week that had preempted Clove's attack against her: _'You'd never win Clove, because you don't have any friends. Not here and definitely not if you ever make it into the games. Nobody would want freaky little Clove in their alliance!'_

"I'm impressed, Watson. I've never heard anyone in the training annex openly admit that they're too weak to win. You're _terribly pathetic_. I hope that you're the last to die in the games. Then we'll see your pretty little face when realize just how foolish you've been your whole life."

Ellery's dark expression returned as she gave Clove the nastiest expression she could. She then quickly stormed out of the room, but not before pushing her assailant to the ground. With a roll of eyes, Cato rose and dusted off his attire, giving Clove his classic smirk. Oh how she despised him.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily, turning away from the growing boy with irritation. He now had about 4 inches on her, widening the gap that had previously been always been around an inch or two. Cato was getting taller, but to Clove's immense displeasure, she was not.

Cato looked dismayed, "She called me stupid."

"Well, I can see why you're so surprised. It's probably the only truthful thing she's said all year."

He gave a warning glance that she ignored, but at least she was looking directly at him now.

"You can't keep trying to kill me and then apologize every time you realize how dumb of an idea that it might be," she narrowed her eyes at him, her knife still firmly in the palm of her left hand.

"She heard you saying to some of your friend that we were weak, that's what she said." Cato pulled a chair up to her bedside and took a seat, "and we aren't weak, so we decided to prove it."

"You really are stupid! Cato, I don't have any friends!" she exploded at the first part, then hissed, "So even if I did think you guys were weak, I wouldn't have anyone to tell."

Despite her loathing expression, Cato didn't miss the stray tear she had desperately wiped away. His stomach clenched a bit before he responded with an irritated expression and a roll of his eyes. Clove swore if he rolled his eyes at her one more time, she was going to rip his eyeballs out with her bare hands, "Of course you have friends. _We're_ your friends. After all the years, we thought you knew that by now."

"Well, some friends you are, believing Ellery Watson over me."

* * *

_5 hours earlier: 11:00 AM, July 21st, year 68  
_

Ellery couldn't possibly understand. How had that low-class rugrat overcome Paxton? She understood that Paxton wasn't quite at the top of her cohort yet, but she was definitely a more valuable ally than Clove Holloway.

She couldn't help but grumble to herself when she saw the young group of boys passing by. As always, they were cheerfully droning on about their newest victory over some other student. She blinked her eyes trying to remember the boy Paxton droned on incessantly about. He was the best, she had gushed one weekend morning when they were in the auto on the way to training. Conveniently enough, Paxton had also mentioned that he and the rest of friends hated Clove.

"One of you wouldn't happen to be Felix Grey, would you?" she inquired, suppressing her nerves as the collective slowed and turned towards her. She eyed each of the boys individually for a moment. Three brunettes of varying degrees and a single blonde stood before her. The tallest boy, with black hair gave her cocky smirk.

"What's it you old lady at the sea?" he inquired flirtatiously.

This better work, was all Ellery thought with disgust, as she sweetly remarked, "You know Clove Holloway? She's in the same cohort as my sister. Well, my poor sister was devastated when she heard Holloway say to her friends that you and your friends are all prattle and no proof."

The blonde boy was the only one to show any substantiated understanding of the remark. The others simply recognized it was an insult on some level.

Felix's eyes flashed furiously as he stepped even closer to her, "I'm the highest ranking Junior Trainee in level III. Now, I dare you to repeat that!"

Ellery gave him a closed-lip smile and replied simply, "I wouldn't dare test you, dear. You've been dishonored. What are you going to do about it?"

"No. I couldn't challenge Clove. She'd be out like a light in only a minute," Felix decided, shaking his head, "Maybe I'll go talk to her."

"If she didn't bring your abilities into question on her own, you certainly have by your own actions." Ellery challenged, adding a 'tch' sound to her assertion. She focused now on the other boys, "And you three. What are your ranks, then?"

After a pause, none of the boys had answered. After she gave them a quick sneer, the shortest boy, with reddish-brown hair and bright brown eyes stepped forward with a defensive expression, "I'm ranked 12th out of 97."

"I'm 17th," said the lightest brunette hesitantly. After the Felix boy, this boy was the tallest of the group. The blonde boy was the only one hadn't spoken, and now the three brunettes were watching him with a collectively intense energy. Ellery's interest had peaked, so she inched closer to the hesitant boy.

"What's your rank?" he demanded in response to her nearing proximity. He broke the air for a brief moment and the other boys let out a breath, looking over at Ellery now with distaste.

Her expression curled into a smirk, "I'm overall fourth of 106. That Clove kid is pretty high ranking too. My sister said that she's the top student for the girls in Year 64. She's fared so well, I can see why she might think you boys are all talk. You might be bigger than she is, but she's probably a lot smarter."

Ellery didn't miss their expression of surprise. They didn't know, she realized with sudden satisfaction and swallowing her glee, she continued. "I'm sure her comments are manageable for now. She's only a flicker, but you wouldn't want it to become a flame. You could become a target if you seem too softhearted."

"We aren't softhearted, bitch." the boy with reddish brown remarked, his expression hostile once more as he stalked forward. Ellery could tell he had a nasty temper, and something bubbled up in her. This was fun!

"It's a better story for the boys in my cohort, anyways. Unlike you four, when someone assaults their honor, my boys make sure that they never see the light of day," she turned for a moment and looked directly at the the blonde boy, "You are all a disgrace to this training annex. The annex that has so little, but gives so much to us all. Maybe the reason Clove assaulted your honor is because she knew you wouldn't be strong enough to defend it. It's terribly pathetic."

The blonde lunged forward, looking absolutely feral. The lightest brunette shook his head, "It's Clove that we should be after, Cato." Felix agreed, dragging the shortest boy by the wrist forward. The four turned back, heading towards the gyms. If Ellery didn't know any better, she'd have thought they knew exactly where little Clove would be.

This was going to be good.

* * *

Why did she always do this? Why couldn't she lay low? No, she was an instigator. Always provoking Dicey because 'it's fun and his face gets all red just like his hair!' Always insisting that Felix is a 'hoodlum' because he tends to repeat attire just a little too often. Always doing favors for Cato, then cutting him down afterwards. She was infuriating!

He didn't understand why Clove couldn't be like the others girls in her cohort. Always watching the demonstrations in a happy, mediated cluster. Always enjoying their lunches together cohesively. Always fairly polite when any of his cohort-mates approached them.

No, Clove was never one to obey rules. Of any form, actually.

That's why she was willing to initiate fights with older students, even though it was strictly forbidden. That's why she'd throw knives without care, even when it was against policy to remove weapons from classrooms. That's why she was willing to... turn on two completely separate machines that shoot long-ranged weapons at you. In this case, arrows and tiny darts. GOD DAMN IT, CLOVE.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck!' was all that ran through Nero's mind as he tackled Clove to the ground. The dart barely skimmed by her left forearm and Dicey, who was the most talented at evasive combat had to dodge several other arrows and darts as he made his way to the front of the machine. Out of breath, he quickly turned both machines off. He groaned to himself when he saw the littered arrows and darts that now surrounded them.

Nero had had it with Clove fucking Holloway. He resisted the urge to spit in her face when she dared to look up at him with surprise after he punched her in the cheek. When he saw the vulnerable expression on her face, he couldn't help but to smash her cheek even harder.

Her body was soon stolen from his grasp and Nero looked upwards only to swiftly look down on the mat where she made impact. The fight had quickly turned into a cluster, with the four boys taking turns punching, throwing, kicking, and even pulling at her hair. Her hair was longer now. Perfect for getting the little witch's attention.

Every thirty or seconds or so, Clove would catch a breath and attempt to speak, but would never be given the chance. Dicey was as tired of her comments as the rest of them it seemed, as he would knock her directly in the teeth each time she tried. Finally, she would understand that they were not weak.

She was.

After several minutes, the girl before Nero was a wreck. She looked even worse off than some of the quarry workers after rock slides. Blood from various injuries on her face was dripping onto the mats, there were welts where the boys had made the strongest impacts, and tear streaks that had intersected with the blood that covered her.

"I think we're done here." Nero was too dazed to process who had said it, but as the boy gave Clove one last look-over, he became more confident in his ability to make that first kill, to steal one's last breath, to bring only the greatest honor to District Two. Nero knew that if he could help destroy his own cousin, then what was stopping him from destroying a random stranger? His chest felt hollow and his breathing deepened.

Nero looked immediately to Felix, who also looked winded. The boys turned to Clove just in time to hear a sickening crack and her cry of pain. "I am not weak," Cato's voice was cool, with just a small quiver in his voice.

Nero couldn't help but to disagree. Cato was weak. Well, at least the weakest of them all. Ranking in at 21, Cato was a hotshot in hand-to-hand combat, somewhere among the top ten, but he lacked tactical skill in the areas where Clove unfortunately excelled: long-distance weaponry and strategy. And in the hunger games, that would make him an easy target.

It appeared, however, that Cato was slowly learning. That's why Nero wasn't surprised when he saw that Clove's wrist- her throwing wrist- was a mangled mess.


	8. The Outline

**AN** - As of the previous chapter, Cato is eleven and Clove is ten. He was born on June 27th, Year 57 and she was born February 4th the following year. In District II, students must turn six by September 1st of the year they begin 1st grade, so Cato and Clove will begin sixth and fifth grade respectively when the summer is over. Training is similar, with the deadline being July 1st instead of September.

* * *

"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his."

- General George Patton

* * *

**Recap **/ About a year and half Clove and Cato's conversation on life as a victor, Clove sprained the arm of a girl in her cohort, which resulted in her fourteen year old sister Ellery seeking retaliation. In doing so, she utilized the strength of the strongest boy in the year 63 cohort, Felix Grey and his friends Dicey, Nero, and Cato by claiming that Clove had been telling other students that they were weak. Outraged by this slander, the boys sought Clove out just in time to save her from her own recklessness. However, they quickly went to work proving that they weren't weak, with Cato putting the finishing touches on the whole scene by stomping on Clove's throwing wrist.

* * *

"You cry in your sleep," a voice lulls her out of a dreamy unrest. The world is spinning.

Clove's heart constricts and she hazily digs through the sheets to the find her knife. Where-where is it? She stills. Maybe, if she doesn't say anything, he'll let her be. There's nowhere to run and in her condition, she'd probably hurt herself more trying to get away than staying put.

"Oh yeah. I took your knife. I didn't want you thinking I was one of the figures from your nightmares and accidentally stabbing me."

She scoffs. When she stabs him, it wouldn't be an accident.

I've been thinking, you know-" Clove grinds her teeth together to stop the smirk that would have accompanied her retort if she wasn't defenseless at the moment. He doesn't slow at her defensive posture and continues his mindless babbling, "-so I'm going to train you. Three days a week. Monday, Thursday, and Saturday evening."

She regrets the comment the instant it leaves her mouth, "Or you could just stop trying to kill me, Fix."

"Why do you insist on calling me that?"

Good, a diversion. Clove opens her eyes to find that the room is entirely pitch black, "It's faster than Felix," and thinks to herself that the less time she spends with him the better. She squints her eyes for a moment adjusting to the darkness, then looks up at him, "How late did I sleep?"

"It's four."

"I wasted the entire day! Oh dammit, how will I do all my reading now?" she reaches for her book bag and retrieves a heavy, black hardbound text with a yelp. The adjustment to depending entirely on her left hand has been tough, to say the least.

"In the morning, Holloway." He corrects with a condescending expression. If she had her knife, she would have cut his lips off at this point. "If it were four in the afternoon, I'd be training, not catching up with you."

She scowls.

"Why do you want to help me, anyways? You don't help people." She questions shortly. Felix allows her passive-aggressive quip to fly over his head, but when she begins to scratch anxiously at her IV Felix has to pry her hands away with a threatening expression.

He runs his thumb over the back of her right hand to distract her, while firmly keeping her hands tightly in his own. Clove struggles and he closes his eyes, sighing for a moment and collects himself, "Your hand is not going to heal if you keep trying to use it. We didn't spare any effort this time, so you'll have to keep it together while your body mends itself."

"Answer the question, Felix." Clove demands, looking self-conscious and full of doubt. She doesn't bother asking how the hell the hoodlum got into her medical annex suite at an hour like this. She knows she wouldn't like the answer either way.

"I've decided that you are going into the Quarter Quell," he supplies in a casual tone. It's a tone that fails to reflect his intentions.

"Cato wants the Quarter Quell." She challenges in return, giving him a distrustful expression. She and Cato may have their moments, but...

"We're going for a triple strike," Felix says gleefully. He purses his lips together to stop the splitting grin, but is unable to and continues, "It'll be a three year victory era for District II. I'm going first, during the 74th."

"And who's going after the Quell? We'll have-"

"I'm haven't chosen yet" Felix breaks in, looking terribly proud of himself, "We're going to figure out who's the best candidate of the others together. You and I will have to decide quickly, though. Whoever we choose will need enough time to plan how to make his games especially exciting, because that is exactly what the Capitol will want following The Quell."

"What if something happens to one of us before we can enter?" she wonders to herself just how much of this he's thought out yet. Clove knows she will undoubtedly enter the games in her late reaping years, but she's not too sure of doing it under the guise of Felix's master plan.

Felix's grin falls from his face, quickly replaced by a reprimanding frown. "We have no competition. I am the best of the best."

"I'm not s-"

"Why do you think I'm here?" he inquires with a yawn. Clove bites her tongue as several unfriendly answers come to mind. She hides her surprise when he quietly asks, "Do your IVs feel any better?"

She nods slightly and he releases her hands, laying his own down, leaning his head into his arms and subsequently onto her waist.

He closes his eyes and mumbles sleepily, "Gotta protect ya, kid. That's why."

* * *

Clove closes the textbook and releases a relieved sigh. As the ball reflects off the wall, Dicey opens his hands in anticipation. Once he catches it, he turns to her and remarks lazily, "if it makes you feel any better, it doesn't get any more interesting."

She is unable to stop the small laugh that emerges.

Dicey's dimples are protruding now as he smiles from ear to ear, "How is it possible I've never seen you smile before?"

She wrinkles her nose in distaste and staunchly replies, "Maybe because you tried to break my teeth!"

He looks discouraged for a moment, but then contemplates to himself silently. Clove can't help but to favor him least. Dicey can be somewhat of an enigma and it perplexes her. Felix is at least consistent in his arrogance, Nero in his discipline, and Cato in his indecisiveness. Dicey is... whatever he feels the mood calls for, which makes him both a people-pleaser and easy to provoke.

Dicey looks up, stumbling over his words, "She's good, you know. Ellery. She's really good, but she-" he stops his rant and exhales, "I'm really sorry, Clove."

Her stomach clenches. Even though he's saying this to her, she's not too sure he's saying it _just to her_. Clove realizes that it's entirely possible that she's become an outlet for him and can't help but to wonder how long he's carried this all-consuming guilt within his chest.

"After all this, I'll become a much stronger candidate for the games. Tributes make comebacks all the time and now I'm building up the strength to take em down!" she tells him, charging her left fist into the air. When he sees her smile, despite how small it is, his demeanor brightens. Clove figures that he deserves this much. Even though he probably had the smallest role in her attack, Dicey Wilder has been the first of the boys to work towards making amends.

Cato had been evasive. He is always evasive, the rotten coward. Felix wanted something from her. Well, of course he did. The muscular and well-defined pre-teen probably thought he deserved the universe in palm of his hand. And Nero... he was something else entirely.

When he had visited her earlier in the day, the duo sat in absolute silence. Normally, he was rather good at talking himself out of a corner, but she wasn't having it at all. Clove was fully aware that everyone else in the world would one day attempt to hurt her someway, somehow, but not him. Family is different. Mama and daddy and Magnilda, they're _her everything_, and Nero is her cousin. No, they're not particularly close, but he's still family and he's still a part of her everything.

* * *

It feels strange to be on his own. With Felix in private lessons, Nero finishing school work, and Dicey completely of out his grasp, there is a sort of dullness that hangs in the air. As he tears at the skin off of his orange, some of the girls in his cohort give him a sweet smile to which he nods in response. He doesn't doubt they'd turn on him in a minute. This sort of thinking tends to cloud his relationships, though.

A few weeks ago, when the new training year began, one of the pretty little blondes in his cohort asked him to take her to lunch. He suggested they go to the park instead and she in turn looked aghast, reminding him of what he already knew; that it was over 100 degrees outside and that going to the park would probably not be a good idea. He then cockily remarked that if they got too hot they could take off their clothes. Cutie had flushed bright red in response, scampering off, and he was only able to hold his laughter but for half a second. It was terrible, but he sure had a lot of damn fun witnessing the varying reactions to his invitations.

"That's him," he hears a voice in the distance. It could be a million miles away, but he'd know his brother's voice in a heartbeat. He looks up to see a first year looking down at him contemptuously. No way, he thinks to himself. It can't be- What the-

"What do you want?" Cato inquires. This feels so peculiar, and he knows he's lived this moment before.

"You are Cato, aren't you?" the little brunette demands. His first thought is that she's a really cute kid, but he pushes that thought away as quickly as it develops. The second is that he knows exactly who she is and he's interested to see just how this plays out.

"Yeah, I am."

"This first year has been around the universe and back trying to find you." Mars is smiling as he says this. He's smiling so tightly that Cato knows that he's up to something.

"And how'd she find you?" Cato grumbles, eying his older brother suspiciously. Mars has not stopped smiling and Cato can't help to be wary of his devilish grin. The pigtailed girl is tactless, possibly fearless, because she quickly steps forward without regard for status.

"I just went to all the big kid classrooms and waited until someone who looked like Cato came out," she says it simply, but he knows there has to be more to it than that. Mars is over a foot taller than he is and their color has a bit of variation. You wouldn't exactly confuse the two.

"What does someone who looks like Cato look like?" Mars prods, enjoying this entirely too much and Cato sends him a glare, but it's too late. She's already started.

"Tall! but also kinda skinny. He's also got yellowish hair and skin like he's been in the sun for a long time, but not red. Not red. And he's got to look confused, like he never knows what's going on, because he definitely doesn't at all!" she pauses and looks to Mars, "and a sword that's connected to his arm! but that was a lie, because you don't have a sword connected to your arm," she says the last part directly to him.

Mars is laughing hysterically at this point and while a small part of Cato is glad to see him happy, a bigger part wants to punch him in stomach and tell him to shut up.

"Yeah?" Cato asks, raising his eyebrows, "Well you found me."

"You're not as tall as I thought you would be. He's a lot taller," she observes, pointing at Mars, who has almost made a full recovery.

"Well, whoever you got your information from forgot to mention that Cato barely just finished fifth grade. I'm a lot older than he is. I've only got one year left until I'm out of the reaping," Mars is calmer, kindly telling her these things. This is one area in which they differ. Mars likes children. Cato does not.

"Why did you hurt my sister's feelings? She said after you all yelled at her, she got really hurt and it made her break her throwing arm!" there's a familiar flicker, a spark within the girl that he recognizes. However, while Clove has subtlety sometimes, the smaller girl does not. So when she stomps on his wrist, he quickly retracts it and begins to self-soothe. His mother's advice echoes in his head and he tries his hardest to disassociate it with the small girl. She is not the enemy.

Mars steps in quickly and yanks her backwards towards the opposite wall. He gives a stern expression and growls, "Hey! that is not how you resolve problems with upperclassman!" When her lip quivers and tears threaten to spill, he slows himself down and adds, "You could be dismissed for that sort of behavior. I don't think your sister would appreciate that is all I'm trying to say."

Mars pats Clove's sister awkwardly on the head and she attaches herself to his left leg, crying. His brother looks at him, "How bad is it?"

"It hurts a little bit, but I dunno. I guess I'll focus on kicks for the rest of the day." Cato knows his wrist isn't broken or anywhere near needing medical care, but it stings, and this was done by a six year old. He's a lot bigger than Clove and he definitely put a lot more energy into his stomp than her sister did. Shit. He understands now that she might be out of training for longer than he thought, "How long is med leave?"

"She's going to be cutting it awfully close." Mars responds, looking doubtful and worn out. He pulls her off of his leg and gives her a halfhearted expression of encouragement, "If you had shown the that much promise when you came to your advisory board last month, I would have given you a lot higher marks."

"Does that mean I'm strong?"

"It means you had the element of surprise on your side. If you can keeping your competitors guessing, we might make a tribute out of you yet."

"That means you'll have to train hard," Cato interrupts, looking directly at her. He doesn't smile and only speaks what he knows, "And maybe in ten years, you'll be in official District II tribute training like Mars. When you're watching the games next year, you'll have to root for him, because he sure seems to be rooting for you. Okay?"

"Yeah!" she says with an energetic grin. The little girl turns to the clock and then back to the boys, "I gotta go now, but I'll be rooting for you mister Mars!"

Satisfied by her admission, he whispers one last remark into her ear, and she whispers back. When he returns, Cato wonders aloud, "What'd you say to her?"

"I asked for her name. And she said that it's Magnilda G. Holloway and that I could call her Nelly."


	9. The Jack of All Trades

It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.

- Mark Twain

* * *

**Recap **/ Clove was placed on semi-permanent bed rest following her assault. After Cato told them of Ellery's deceit, each of the four boys visited her and engaged in some sort of dialogue with her about the situation, with Dicey being the only of the four to outright apologize. Felix then snuck into her room and revealed his plan to have District II win three games in the row and worked to recruit Clove as his ideal tribute for the 75th hunger games. Meanwhile, Mars introduced Cato to a first year who had been looking for him. Disregarding pleasantries, she immediately stomped on his wrist and then returned to class, but not before revealing to Mars that her name was Magnilda Holloway.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 69_

They hate him.

For as long back as it has mattered, Cato has always acted like the girls in his cohort were so desperately falling to his feet. She's heard several variations of the same story where he offers to get undressed if his date obliges as well. He thinks he's funny. She thinks he's a moron. Clove has an inkling that she would probably make Cato more uncomfortable if she got undressed than he would if he did the same to her. After all, she's already seen more than she's cared to.

When the instructors from his cohort offered the ten highest ranking students in her cohort the chance to observe the year 63 students for the day, she figured this would be a good opportunity to observe the instructors' techniques. Her brashness clouded her judgment, leaving Clove to care less about the actual students. After the first hour, her prognosis is that the instructors are a bit flighty, but certainly less strict than her own, and a lot less single-minded.

Clove and her peers had been placed near the front of the room and purposely angled to be able to watch both the performers and the audience. So when Cato steps forward with a rather large spear in his hand, she watches him very intently. After he makes a near-perfect shot Clove turns to the audience to gauge whether or not he's satisfied them. Their faces surprise her. While a small group of girls are watching him with admiration, several others are shooting the nastiest expressions that they can muster into the back of his head. She has to hold in a laugh. Clove shouldn't have to think long about why they hate him, but she ponders for a moment anyways. Her conclusion is not one she cares to repeat, because really...

They can't be jealous of Cato Elroy.

For what? his off-aim shooting? There's nothing to envy the blonde boy for. He's just Cato.

Cato who gets sick when he eats turkey. Cato who is littered with so many scars that it makes Clove wonder if she could trace a pattern among them all. Cato who is so afraid of being alone that he sticks to her like glue any time he can't find his other friends.

His weaknesses almost outnumber his strengths. He is not someone to be envied.

* * *

Cato laid in bed, reading over a book. With a resigned expression, he put it aside and exhaled. The day was nearing. The day when he would have the first chance at proving his honor. In less than eight weeks, he'd be twelve and would be eligible to begin the next level of both his academic career and his training regimen. His head rose when he heard a knock on the door and he softly told the visitor to come in.

Mars stood before him. Though always muscular, his mass had only increased in the last year and he looked different now. Less refined as he had formerly been and a lot rougher, brutal even. It was peculiar, because while his brother had always been talented in hand-to-hand combat, it was his decision-making skills that had aided him most. For this reason, he'd been assigned to the selection committee to assist the board of directors in choosing which students were worth investing in.

He received a small stipend from the committee that was mostly directed towards training materials. Cato understood that Mars was much more clever than himself, though. If it had been him, he'd have spent the money on food and an industrial lock to protect it. Instead, Mars' boyfriend Ryden doted on him and kept him well-fed. He deserved it, but to Cato it still wasn't entirely fair.

Mars stood there, looking rigid as stone. He and his brother barely spoke anymore, with Mars in tribute training and Cato preparing for his final exam.

"I was thinking after you finish your first year as potential tribute that we could take a trip to Two South."

Despite that being about a year away, Cato jumped up. "Yeah!" he beamed, then hesitated, "but why?"

"You're still into cowboys and all that nonsense, right?" Mars supplied stiffly, looking almost uncomfortable.

Cato pursed his lips together in thought, "We should go somewhere you want."

Mars noted his discouraged expression and sighed, rubbing his hair, "I offered, didn't I?" This wasn't normal. It was very much out of character for his little brother to be so complacent. One of the few things the pair had in common was their high energy output, "What's on your mind, kid?"

"If I fail, they'll kick me out of the annex..." Cato mused to himself.

Mars scrunched his face, "Cato, you're one of the best students in your cohort for sword training. You won't miss your target just because your test subject is a moving object."

Cato didn't say anything in response. Anything he could say would be construed as weakness. Instead, he just nodded his head and averted his eyes. "I heard in Two East that they dig holes into the ground and pave them with concrete and when they're done they add water. We should go there too."

"You're afraid of killing."

"I never said that!" Cato barked in reply to the accusation, backing away from his brother and closer to the wall his bed leaned against. He shot a glare and pulled his knees forward, "I never said that." he repeated, softer.

"Look, killing is as much visual as it is strategic! You're going to have to overcome your weakness fast, but in the meantime... I don't know. Just break their neck or something." Mars didn't bother to hide his revulsion as he left Cato to contemplate his frailties.

Cato turned away, letting his brother exit and tried to think of what lied off far in the distance, away from Panem.

* * *

Cato walks through the entrance of the training annex with deliberate movement. When he finds who he's been looking for, he halts and amicably greets the duo. Clove simply turns away, but Magnilda supplies him with the biggest smile he's ever seen. She's always been bright where Clove's been dark, but the contrast suits them.

"Hey Nelle," he responds softly, patting her head for a brief moment before turning to Clove who still isn't looking at him.

"Why do all of you dumb boys insist on calling her pet names?"

Cato has to appreciate that Clove of all people is making this statement. The same girl who calls him blondie, stupid, prince charming. Anything but his actual name. So he does what he always does and gives her a half-smirk that she ignores. Magnilda is pulling on his arm, trying to get his attention, but he feels lost... lost at sea, almost.

"My instructors said I could come watch you get promoted to PT," she chatters enthusiastically. As she waves her head excitedly, her pigtails bob. The tails adorned with turquoise ribbon are a bit mussed, but Cato's mind immediately goes to the trail mix and he feels himself shaking. There's no going back after this. By the end of the day, he'll be one step closer to achieving honor.

"Don't bother," he combats icily as he retracts his arm from her grasp.

"But-" Magnilda launches towards him again.

"Get lost," Clove snaps, turning back to them. She pushes the petite first year away from them and Magnilda huffs indignantly, then storms away. Yep. She's definitely Clove's sister.

"You gonna keep your promise?" his asks, sounding a bit unsettled. She nods. They begin walking towards the classrooms, passing several students of varying ages. They ignore a glare from Paxton Watson, who is surrounded by boys in Clove's cohort.

"I never thought you'd be asking me for tips, you know." She remarks, offering him some of her grapes.

He accepts a small handful. Cato opens the door to find a small group of third years, who he orders out of the room. He doesn't even count a second and they're gone.

Clove sets up as Cato rummages through his bag. She gives a test throw and the knife makes its mark dead center. Cato whistles appreciatively, "That's why I asked for your help."

She moves behind him, guiding his arm in the pattern. He bubbles in anticipation. Clove makes a throwing movement and he does the same. He's off-center, but better than he's ever been before. Though, by Clove's concerned expression, he's not quite good enough. Cato grabs another knife, getting a feel for it. It seems less ethereal than a sword, less powerful, less critical. In Clove's hands, though, it's anything but.

So he throws again. This time closer to the center than before.

Clove steps away to observe his technique. Cato throws another knife, this time nearly perfect. He doesn't miss the way her eyes dilate. He does this another ten or so times. Sometimes, his throws fall into the other rings. Others, he's close. Close, but not enough. Clove makes minor corrections to his posture and throwing technique but he barely improves.

After an hour, he's worn but he doesn't give up. It's unthinkable to do so. Mastery of a barrage of weapons is critical to ensuring his place. He'll never earn his rightful spot among District II's elite with a weak will and weak resolve. Cato assures himself. He will prove himself. His efforts shall not be in vain. His heart beats only for Panem and because of Panem. For his country gives twenty-four very fortunate youth the opportunity to attain the highest glory and to share that glory with others for the duration of the rest of their life. The Capitol will not go unappreciated. He will not allow it.

One more throw follows. Clove's heart flutters. She turns to him with an expression of disbelief in her eyes. She throws herself onto him and they fall backwards onto the mat.

"Impressive work," she murmurs into his chest. He hesitates for only a moment, before he moves a hand through her hair. They both are acutely aware that he may not be able to replicate the precision again, but it's a start. And there's a new expression on his face, one Clove isn't sure of. He's shaking again, so Clove grabs his left hand with her right and gives it a firm squeeze.

"They won't know what hit them."

* * *

They're lined in order of age, which places Felix at the head of the line and Nero in the first ten. Cato counts the gap between Dicey and himself to be six, with Cato at the heel of the line. The girls are in a separate line parallel to them. Lana Romanoff searches his eyes for comfort, but he quickly turns away. Romanoff will fail this exam and he doesn't want to have to answer to her tears when she does.

Four peacekeepers stand guard by the back entrance and bring the first criminal to the center of the room. The man is fairly young. If he had trained, it was likely that he had only graduated within the last five or so years. He's unshaven, contempt blaring in his eyes, and Felix steps forward. To the right of him is the weapons rack, with a large variety of weapons. Some they've trained expertly in, and others they've never feasted their eyes on before this moment. It's incentive to pass.

Felix examines the weapons carefully. He picks up a heavy war hammer, grasping the feel of it. "This will do," he tells the lead peacekeeper.

"Elias Kellog, age 24: convicted of falsifying reaping documents."

Felix's face remains impassive as one of their instructors calls out, "Felix Grey, born July 3rd, 56. Reaping eligible."

"Begin," confirms the other as she starts a blue and white stopwatch. The cohort watches in anticipation as Felix steps closer to Elias Kellog. His face lights up with a smirk.

Felix lunges forward, striking his victim in the stomach first. Elias becomes winded and grabs his stomach, desperately gasping for air. Felix glares at the man before him, and spits, "pitiful" before slamming the hammer against his knee. Elias' knee comes out of place and a few of the students cringe, but none close their eyes in fear of retribution. They are to learn from his example.

He swings the hammer to his other arm, turns his stance to one of a baseball player, and aims for Elias' shoulder next. A sickening crack follows the impact and he cries out desperately in pain. Felix then goes towards his other knee and Cato sighs at the display.

"I've heard of people like you. Trying to remove children from the reaping bowl. How despicable you must be to try and deprive them of their chance for glory."

With an expression that unsettles even the strongest among them, Felix leaps upwards, wielding the hammer and brings it down directly on Elias Kellog's head. The impact severely fractures his skull, breaking it into several pieces that launch outwards, and splatters blood everywhere, "You'll never be able to repay for the acts you've committed."

Felix is seething, looking nearly rabid as an instructor comments.

"Nicely done, Grey. You may observe."

He nods his thanks and sits to the left of his cohort mates. They notice him shaking, still upset by the man's atrocities. The peacekeepers bring other non-capital prisoners to collect the bodies after each examination. Soon enough, Cato's focused in on Nero, who looks passive. He studies the middle-aged man before him and selects a long war scythe. It's an interesting choice for an archer.

"Slay Alcott, age 42: convicted of intimacy with a minor under the age of twelve."

Nero tries to steady himself, his heart beating wildly as the first instructor calls, "Nero H. Kaiser, born August 28th, 56. Reaping eligible."

"You may begin!" the other clucks with a press of her finger. The second instructor stares at the man before her. It's only poetic justice that a moment later his head is on floor beside her. Satisfied, she kicks the head to the prisoner cleaning up and he places it on a silver gurney with the rest of Alcott's body.

"Very clean cut, Kaiser. We'll have to work with scythes during the next training year."

"Thank you, mam." He bows and quietly exits.

Adie Fox steps forward eagerly and selects a small, silver spear. She bounces on her heels as the peacekeeper announces the criminal, a graying man, "Jessup Me-"

She shakes her head, irritated, "I don't care who he is or what he's done. He'll die either way, so let's go." The peacekeeper gives her a threatening glance that rolls off of her back.

"It's done for your benefit," he explains wearily.

"I'll be just fine," she sneers.

"Adie Fox, born September 5th, 56. Reaping eligible," the first instructor says, though the last two words are said with an edge to them. The second instructor gestures for her to go, and she obliges with a grin.

"You," she punctuates with a spear to Jessup's pectoral. "Should," she strikes again, but this time to the right. The man is screaming, but Adie only launches forward again, "know" another strike, "better!" and one to the stomach. "By," and the grand finale "NOW!" Directly into his crotch.

The boys' line inches away from the female line, and the second instructor only laughs.

"A bit much, Fox," the first instructor dismisses with disgust. Adie doesn't mind, only smiling to herself as she skips over to the growing group of observing students.

Six of the first twenty-five are dismissed. Some for their inability to deliver a kill despite intent, and others for hesitating, use of incorrect technique, or lack of mental stamina. Following Adie Fox's little outburst, the peacekeepers decide to speed up the show and omit the perpetrator's information. Cato doesn't much like this. Instead having to imagine why so many of these men, and a few of the women, are here.

It takes several hours for the line to dwindle down to Dicey, but when it does, Cato doesn't have look into his best friend's eyes to know that this is not going to end well. He selects a bola, which Cato had read all about when researching mounted hunters during his cowboy phase. The weapon consisted of a three prong durable rope that had small circular weights attached. Traditionally, they'd been used to capture animals by wrangling them by the foot, but he wasn't too sure that was how it was used on humans.

"Dicey Wilder, born May 13th, 57. Reaping eligible."

Hushed whispers come from the observing crowd as they study Dicey with growing interest.

The auburn haired boy stares down the young child before him. A small, subdued blonde with hazel eyes clouded by tears. Dicey's breathing increases a few paces, leaving Cato to mentally urge him on, 'Do it, Dicey. Just do it already!'

"You may-"

"No, wait! I want to know who he-" he points towards the young boy before him, "is, and why he's here."

"Halvard Stalone, age 9: Convicted of multiple accounts of thievery."

"And that's enough to land him here?" Dicey demands, now looking at the peacekeeper with an intense expression. He doesn't trust that this isn't a mistake on their part.

"Not that it's relevant to you, kid, but his mother refused to pay the fines for his crimes. Said it wasn't worth it." The peacekeeper answers with a resigned expression.

"Begin, Wilder. Now." the second instructor threatens, and Dicey nods in response.

The small boy quickly shuts him eyes, sobbing to himself. Dicey throws the prongs of the bola around his neck. The boys eyes flicker open and Dicey pulls. Within a minute, Halvard Stalone is no longer able to breathe and he asphyxiates.

Dicey removes the weapon from Stalone's neck and replaces it on the rack. He looks to the instructors with anticipation and they chide him for his brashness, but Dicey passes. It's all he can really ask for at this point.

Cato's stomach lurches. There are very few of them left: five girls and six boys remain. Lana Romanoff's gray eyes catch him with a wary expression, he watches her for a moment as she pulls on her chestnut-colored locks.

The line continues to dwindle as the girl in front of Lana is dismissed for lack of endurance; she had vomited all over the floor, resulting in the instructors claiming she had broken protocol by eating too heavily before a major examination. It's been said before, again and again. They aren't to eat too much, not to consume sugar, not to over season their foods, or to dehydrate themselves.

Lana Romanoff picks an axe as her weapon and waits quietly as the the second instructor resets her stopwatch. She quivers, but works to get a hold of herself as the first instructor recites, "Lana Romanoff, born June 27th, 57. Ineligible for reaping."

Her birthday is the same as his, which for a moment makes him wonder what else they have in common. He waves off the thought and watches as a worn out looking, but most likely formerly attractive brunette is placed before Lana. Her resolve is wavering and Cato decides that she's an adulterer. That's usually the charge when a woman receives a capital sentence.

Romanoff is given the okay to begin and directs her attack towards the woman's spleen. She cries out as the wound begins to gape and Lana has a flicker of hesitation that she dismisses by throwing the axe into the woman's heart. Her cries stop, and the instructors seemed mildly impressed by Romanoff's work. Maybe they had believed she would fail, like he had thought. Lana gracefully accepts the praise and joins the sea of observing students.

He steps forward, now, as they beckon him forward. He is the last student to perform. The weapons before his eyes are numerous: spears, swords, throwing axes, clubs, flails, scythes, bolas, bows and arrows, daggers, whips, and many more he's unable to identify. Despite this, he knows exactly what he wants. He selects a group of small throwing knives and glides his fingers over one of them.

"Cato Elroy, born June 27th, 57. Ineligible for reaping."

Cato doesn't bother with a show. He's seen plenty in the last two hours. The victim brought before him is a woman, just as Lana's had been. His exam subject, however, is a heavily pregnant teenage girl.

He steps forward, ready to prove himself. Just as the peacekeepers had said, these criminals were being cleansed of their transgressions in death by helping his cohort get one step closer to attaining honor. On some level, these criminals had to already know that, but Cato can't help but to stare at the girl before him. She already looks closer to death than anyone he'd ever seen.

"Last, but hopefully not least," the instructor clucks and he begins.

Cato tackles her to the ground and she reflexively struggles. He pins her down quickly and elbows her the face. He plunges the first two knives through the palms of her hands and into the mats. The teen screams out, tears streaming down her face.

His breath hilts and he gets back to his feet, throwing a knife into her stomach. He wonders if she's crying from pain or from grief, but knows it doesn't matter. Cato watches her for a moment. She's the first, but will certainly not be the last. He throws a knife into her throat and leaves her to drown in her own blood.

"Well, well. What a fascinating show this year." the first instructor says to the observing crowd, and pushes Cato towards them. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Yes, many of the displays were breathtaking. Some of you will make for some of the greatest tributes yet," the second instructor continues, "And to think that your cohort went from 97 students this morning to just 71. That's half the number of students that were here when you all began your efforts just a mere six years ago."

"And while it's been a long six years, do not forget that you have another six to go!" the first instructor warns, glaring at the faces of some of the more relaxed students.

"You are formally dismissed until July 1st."

Cato exhales. He's done. He did it. It's over. He's done. Well, until July 1st. He grins over at Felix and Nero, who are both giving him a smug expression. By the time he turns to find Dicey, the boy has already disappeared from sight. That's no good, Cato muses, I never even got to tell him happy birthday.


	10. The Promise

"If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things."

- Albert Einstein

* * *

**Recap **/ Several months had passed since Clove's attack, with final examinations now just around the corner. Clove found that while Cato had certainly played the role of smooth talker, he was actually widely disliked by many of his peers. Mars offered to take Cato on a trip to District Two South, on the cusp of old Arizona and Mexico. Cato then sought Clove's assistance and during their exam, Felix went on a rampage, Dicey hesitated to kill his child examination subject, and Cato was surprised to find that his subject was a pregnant, teenage girl. Felix, Nero, Dicey, and Cato each passed, but not without a few battle scars.

* * *

It's raining. Drizzling, mostly.

The water droplets spill down the side of the window cautiously as dark clouds loom threateningly overhead in the distance. Magnilda's attention is strictly focused on some mindless television special about The Capitol's best fountains and she begins to point out the ones she likes best.

Clove shakes her head and rises from her spot on the loveseat. She returns a moment later with an over-sized blue towel.

"It's cold outside," Magnilda whines, briefly looking to her.

"Who said you're coming with me?" Clove replies with arched eyebrows. She wraps the towel around her and clenches it tightly, shivering slightly. _It is cold outside_, but it's dreadfully boring in here. Why does The Capitol insist on suspending reruns right before the games? You would think that the exhilaration of the years past would garner more interest for the new games, but of course they choose to torture them with anticipation instead.

Magnilda looks upward for a moment from the television screen and then declares, "when Mars wins, we'll have a victor in the family."

"We're not related to Mars," Clove corrects with a halfway expression between bewilderment and amusement. She pulls on her shoes, lacing them securely and then gives her younger sister a funny look. She inches towards the doorway, looking for her house key in the drawer beside the front door.

"Well, no. Not yet." Her sister agrees and contemplates to herself, "but after you marry Cato, then we'll all be related. Right?"

"I'd marry Nero first."

Magnilda's gasps, horrified, "Nero's too old for you!"

"He's our cousin!" Clove narrows her eyes, dismayed. Shaking her head, she runs out into the drizzling rain and closes the door behind her. Magnilda is weird sometimes.

She follows the sidewalk steadily and observes her surroundings. Which is mostly dry landscape. Front yards are decorated with various types of rock and cacti and the houses have a reoccurring color scheme that varies between shades of white, tan, and brown.

In fifteen minutes time, she's wandered directly into River Mountain Park. A modern park covered in grass and surrounded by paved walkways. Trees litter the paths and in the distance one can see mountains. Up a small hill is a playground, with tire swings, climbing bars, and pull up bars. It's all very nice, Clove thinks, but it's certainly unnatural to the surrounding climate. She takes the towel off of her and into her arms.

She walks along a paved path, relishing in the torrential downpour that takes her by surprise. The park has been abandoned for warmer shelter, but Clove can't help to think this is the best time of all to be there. The cooler weather and darkened skies are comforting to her, despite their ominous appearance.

Clove's heart constricts, when she sees him laying on the ground.

"Dicey!" she calls out. When he doesn't respond, a pit forms in her stomach, "Dicey!"

The rain intensifies. She runs for her life, jumping onto the unresponsive boy, "Dicey!" His eyes open and immediately push her off of him and into a growing muddy puddle a few feet away. The towel flies out of her arms.

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and turns to the now dirty Clove. Recognition flashes in his eyes.

"Clove!" he chastises with a rather hollow tone. Dicey stands up and walks over to the spot where Clove rests. He extends his arm and she almost wants to rebuff him, but accepts instead.

"I called your name and you didn't move, so I thought something was-"

"I'm am uninjured," he remarks. It's the same statement they all make when an instructor asks of their status.

"Why were you sleeping in the park?"

Dicey looks down, his amber eyes fixated on her. His resolve wavers and he moves to a drier patch of grass, sitting down once more. She follows, snatching her towel, and he gestures for her to sit beside him. He rubs his knuckles with his right hand and quietly explains, "I just needed to get away from my house. Callan and Halle have acted like I'm some sort of hero since I was promoted to potential tribute, but it's..."

He trails off and Clove doesn't fill in the gaps, because she doesn't know where he's going with this. He almost sounds disheartened by the whole scenario, but that couldn't possibly be right. He's among the ten best students in his cohort so he probably had one of the better performances of bunch.

"My subject was a kid. He was like me."

"Your subject was a criminal," Clove argues. Self-deprecation is one thing, but lying is another entirely.

Dicey glares at her halfheartedly, "He had stolen food. That's all he did."

"I don't understand-" She's nervous now, because he looks less angry and more... exposed than she's comfortable with.

"His mom wouldn't cover the fines." Her heartbeat increases, because damn it, she can't be here now. Not with him like this!

He begins choking, anxiety overtaking him, and she cringes. He attempts to take small breaths, to relax himself, but it's harder than it looks, "I've done it before too. It could have been me!"

She blinks and scrunches her nose, "You're like- Oh, I didn't know."

He calms down, looking bitter, "No, not like Cato. His family actually has food, they just don't give him any because they want him to be able to go without it during the games. You ruined that, though."

"I didn't mean to ruin anything," she responds to the accusation hostilely.

"You did him a favor. More than you could ever know. That mix of yours isn't much, but it keeps him going. The citrus trees too."

None of his statements make sense to her, "You can't live without any food at all! His parents have to know that."

"They expect him to find his own. That's what survival is about. He's a terrible strategist, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't think he was a decent scavenger."

He almost laughs at her look of indignation. His expression softens at the way her wet hair sticks to her face. She's hanging off his every word, "It's different for us, though. My mom, she works real hard at the quarry, but it ain't enough. And us kids want her to have as much as she can, because it's not easy working there. So we find other ways to eat. Callan and Halle and me. We're a team."

"How do you do it, then?" she challenges, wondering what she would do if it were her and her sister in their place.

"Sometimes, I street-fight. It's pretty good practice, actually."

Clove thinks back to last year's attack. How he dodged the arrows and darts as if they weren't anything at all, "Callan is a pick-pocket, but he's smart. Halle begs, cries, and pleads. Makes herself look worse of than she is. They always take the bait," he says the last bit with a strange pride, "And we share the winnings."

"Nero said he used a scythe. Cut the head clean off."

"Right," Dicey remarks, feeling dejected. It's not her fault she isn't comfortable. He isn't either, but he's not like Cato. He can't hold everything in and expect it to disappear. He made that mistake once and would never again, "Uh. I used a rope thing. It had three ropes and small ball weights. I thought it'd be less painful, but-" he bites his lip, but it's too late to stop the tears, "but I think I probably made it worse."

Clove takes the damp towel and lays it over Dicey, "You'll be stronger when you're older."

With a tired expression, he looks to her, "You think I'm weak."

She doesn't enjoy the expression on his face. It's one of defeat. One she refuses to acknowledge, because she's always thought that she is water and Cato is the wind. Nero is the earth and Felix is most certainly the sky, but Dicey, he's a ravenous fire. She reasons this is why they've never quite seen eye to eye, because there is duality in the two and one is destined to quench the other's spirit.

"No," she turns away from him and watches the birds seek shelter, "You're strong, but you're thinking too much. You have to stop looking at _them_ as human beings. They lost their rights the moment they dishonored Panem. They turned themselves into nothing but a stepping stone."

"In. Malcolm tell you that?" Dicey inquires with a snort, using the towel to dry himself off.

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" she asks.

"I don't know," he shrugs, "I think everyone's truth is different. As long as it makes sense to you, Clo."

She reaches forward, wiping away his tears and rubbing his hair dry with the towel just as her mother had when she was younger. She pulls the towel over their heads and whispers, "I like it a lot better when you smile."

* * *

He doesn't see her coming, but when she arrives, she's in his face in an instant. "Why haven't you helped him yet?" Clove demands, with a ferocious expression. Dressed in a red t-shirt and denim shorts, she looks peculiar to him. Then again, with the sun blazing overhead, anything warmer would be unthinkable. Cato's sitting on top of a black, heavy-duty park table with a booklet in his hands.

"Clove?" he blinks in surprise, "I didn't know you went to the same school as me." His sincere expression of disbelief makes her want to tackle him to the ground and pull out all of his sunshine-y hair. _Of course he didn't know._

If it wasn't Cato, she wouldn't buy it for a second. Instead, she gives him a sarcastic smile in response.

"Why didn't you tell me before? You should eat lunch with us. Well, it's just me and Dicey. Felix and Nero go to the middle school." He points to one of the buildings behind them, where the 7th and 8th grade students are taught.

Clove isn't sure why he's being so cordial and so... friendly? - well, as friendly as Cato can get - Is he stalling? Looking up at him with her bright hazel eyes, she says in a quiet, but accusatory tone, "You knew he wasn't okay."

This isn't a social call. He sighs, exhausted. "Everyone handled _it_ in their own way. Dice just dealt with _it_ by not dealing with it at all." Cato remarks, refusing to agree or disagree with her statement.

Clove frowns, "What does that mean?"

She takes a seat one of the chairs of the table and looks up at him curiously.

"I thought I was nervous, but you should have seen it. The whole thing was so bizarre. Felix acting like he was a peacekeeper or something. He's usually less quick to anger than that. You know, because we were only there for them to decide whether we were capable or not. That's all." He thinks to himself for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows in an attempt to concentrate.

He holds his hands together and continues, "Instead, it was like an experiment gone wrong. Some of the kids weren't able to kill because they weren't strong enough. A lot of them lost it, demanding a reset or threatening the instructors. Other kids purposely drew out their subject's pain, as if to make an impression. We were... we were just there for them to decide whether we were capable or not..." Cato trails off, searching for the answers to an impossible riddle.

He continues on, recalling all the details. "And Dice kept asking questions. More and more. As if it were going to make a easier for him, but it didn't. It only made it worse. We've only had one choice from the beginning and he knew that, but he lost sight of the prize. He let it get to him. I say let the dead stay dead. They have no right to occupy the minds of the living."

It doesn't dawn on Clove that Cato isn't handling this well either. He's just less earnest than the redhead, so she stands on top of her seat and pulls him into her chest, wrapping her arms around him.

"What are you doing?"

"Last year you said we were friends, so I'm being a friend." She sounds unsure of herself, which only makes him want to laugh. He has a lot of friends. She has very few. Yet, he thinks she's a better friend than he's ever been. How can this tiny wreck be so perfect?

He smiles, "I'm glad you're here, Clovey."

She retracts her arms and shakes her head. Sternly, he grabs his arm and commands, "You gotta promise me... No matter how bad stuff gets, we've got each other."

Even though she's asking a lot of him, he doesn't waver for even a moment. Cato looks up to her with a smirk and agrees, "No matter what."

* * *

Magnilda and Cato could not be any more different from one another, but right now they're irritating her equally as much. Her sister seems to think she has a monopoly on cuteness. Cato seems to think he has a monopoly on skill. In Clove's opinion, neither are as a good as they believe and both are as annoying as they sound. If it was the end of the world though, she'd want them both at her side.

Clove stands on the tips of her toes to sneak a glance at the twelves, but she can't find anyone she recognizes. Dicey, Nero, and Felix are somewhere in the crowd and she wonders what it's like to be so close to a potential victor. In a year, she knows that Cato and her will stand in the crowd at their very own first reaping.

The dreadfully bright escort from the Capitol calls out the name of a fourteen year old boy, who moves through the crowd. She doesn't think he's trained, judging by the way he has to fake his confidence. The escort then asks for a volunteer. Immediately, a familiar voice rings out. Her face lights up with a grin.

As Mars makes his way to the stage, Cato and Magnilda are both hollering so loudly that Clove wishes she were anywhere else. Her sister is firmly clutching Cato's neck and he steadies his shoulders to allow her feet some movement.

Unlike her, Cato isn't completely adverse to cute things. When they first met about five years ago, he had always called her variations of the adjective. It wasn't until she threatened to poison his trail mix that he put the nickname to rest. In retrospect, Clove feels almost guilty about what she said that day, but as she hears their cheers go up another octave, she rationalizes that she doesn't feel quite that bad.

The escort then pulls the name of an older girl, who resolves herself to move quickly. Another girl she doesn't recognize volunteers, quickly making her way to the stage. Gathering from her attire, she's most likely from District Two North. Mars extends his hand for the customary handshake and almost rips off her arm.

The crowd goes wild, and as they take the tributes away to the Justice Center, Cato pulls Magnilda off his shoulders. In his exhilaration, Cato begins to talk quickly "I-I've gotta go to-to justice center. Meet in the center in a half hour!"

He runs into the crowd, pushing several people out of the way. Several people shout expletives back at him, but it doesn't matter. Cato needs to find his brother now.

As soon as he makes it to the back of the justice center, he seeks out a peacekeeper. He is directed to a waiting room, where he finds company in his parents, Ryden, a few girls he doesn't recognize, and Mars' two best friends. Ryden drags Cato to the front, "You're going first, Cato."

"He's going to be fucking amazing," Livingston grins, throwing his arm into the air. Mason is leaning an arm on Ryden and the other on Livingston and the three of them are smirking like hyenas.

A door opens and a peacekeeper beckons the first of them forward. The guys turn towards the door to see Mars standing there with a grin on his face, "Fuck yeah Mars!" Mason calls out.

He laughs at them, a certain light in his eyes, and Ryden pushes Cato into the room encouragingly.

Mars closes the door and sets Cato onto a chair in the corner. He's smiling from ear to ear as he puts his hands onto Cato's shoulders, "Kid, when I win, you're gonna come live with me."

Cato furrows his eyebrows with a teasing smirk, "Well, yeah. I didn't think I had to be invited."

Mars smirks in response, "Of course not. I call dibs on the master bedroom, and you can have the one next to mine. We'll have to figure out what to do with the rest of em. Maybe transform them into a mini-training annex."

"Mom would lose her mind," Cato grins.

"Mom can do whatever she wants. They're not coming with us," Mars says in no-nonsense tone, "You're the only one I want."

"Why not?"

Mars threatening expression doesn't change as he grits out, "Me and you, we only need each other."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mars."

"I know I've been a rotten brother the last couple years, but-"

"No!" Cato combats, jumping up from the seat. "You're the best brother ever."

His brother smiles with all of his teeth, "You too. And they'll be fine on their own." Mars ruffles his hair, adding, "You care too much about people destined to disappoint you."

Cato knows his brother is right, but it seems almost unthinkable to leave his parents to the quarries. Mars squeezes his hand and Cato demands, "And we're still going to Two South next summer."

Mars laughs, "We'll go anywhere you want."

They hear a knock. Mars kisses his forehead and Cato hugs him as tightly as possible, "See you soon."

His brother nods with a cocky grin, "See you soon."


	11. The Line of Fire

To live in comfort and know it's warm embrace  
Reminds me only to quicken up the pace  
Know it's time to go against the grain  
Or it will kill me down below.

- Hudson (Against The Grain)

* * *

**Recap **/ On a rainy Saturday following examinations, Clove left her house to explore. She ended up in River Mountain Park, near a low-income area. There she ran into Dicey, who seemed to be close to a mental break. Clove having never experienced that sort of grief before enlisted Cato's help. At the reaping for the 69th annual hunger games, Mars volunteered as male tribute and promised Cato that when he returned home, the two of them would live alone in his new home in the Victor's Village.

* * *

Clove's lungs were ablaze as the dried out trees flew behind her in a daze. Why today of all days had she chosen to stay at home to watch the games? The sun was beating down her neck and the back of her feet were surely bleeding by now. On a normal day, this would have all been prevented. Today was not a normal day.

She hooked a left at Mesquite and continued to run as fast as she possibly could. It had all happened so fast, and then so agonizingly slow. Clove squealed when a rock pierced the sole of her shoe, but only allowed herself a moment before taking off just as quickly as before.

When she arrived at her first destination, she slipped over another rock and onto the front porch of the Wilder residence. She hated rocks. Clove snatched a note addressed to her off of the front door and quickly scanned for necessary details.

_Clove: Pecan and Superstition Drive. 8431. Left at 2:38, D._

Great, Clove thought miserably. Now she was even further from her final destination than before. She rubbed her scratchy cheeks with her dry left thumb and pulled her hands down her face. Alright, yes, it was a 25 minute walk from here, but if she kept a regular pace, then she'd make it in under fifteen minutes.

Clove picked up a steady pace and sped down an unmarked path. The radiant sand heated up the bottom of her shoes, leaving her in a state of moderate discomfort. As she made her way, she wondered if the other districts had this sort of problem: unpaved roads and unmanageable summer weather. By day, the residential area of Two West was abandoned. Most workers traveled to the Pittman Quarry, while others made their way farther north to the center of town.

When she passed Boundary Peak, she heard several workers yelling threatening statements at a blaring television. Clove had never realized just how close to the quarry he lived, but she pushed the thought out of her head as she turned on Superstition Drive. Please be okay, please be okay, she pleaded.

8498. 8476. 8445.

The brunette blinked, surprised by the condition of his home. She thought the way his family starved him that he would live in a less well-kept home, but that wasn't true at all. Clove pushed away the disdain she had for his family as she yanked open the front door.

A blast of cool air engulfed Clove. As refreshing at is was, Clove panted the entire stretch to the center room where Cato rested. His glossy eyes were fixated on the game, which had a split screen documenting the progressive paths that the female District One tribute Bijou and the female District Four tribute Dylan were making across the desert arena.

A sob separated whatever sentence Cato was trying to form, as he pulled his knees forward and leaned his forehead into them. She looked across the room. Where was-

"I made you lunch," Dicey said, coming out of what Clove assumed was the Elroy's kitchen. He left the plate on the side table next to Cato and handed him a tall glass of ice water. Cato left him hanging, so Dicey instead left it next to his food.

Clove sat beside Cato, biting on her right pointer finger nervously. She grabbed his right arm and stroked the back of his hand gently, before softly remarking, "He passed on courageously, Cato."

Cato laughed darkly, raising his head out of his knees and wiping away his tears, "We live in the middle of hell and of all the arenas to be put in, he couldn't have had a better advantage. Why did he have to die, Clove?"

"That ginger bitch was a cheat," Dicey countered, glaring at the screen where the bronze-haired girl was wrapping plastic over a stray plant. She was worse for the wear, with several angry looking wounds. Bijou on the other half of the screen sank into the ground, using her bag as a pillow.

Cato took a sip of the water, held Clove's hand as a lifeline, and watched the television intently, "Can't really cheat at a game with no rules. Then again, how the fuck do you lose at a game with no rules?"

"Sorry, man."

"It's what I get for caring about people. That's what he said before he left. Maybe he was just trying to prove it too."

Fire danced in Dicey's eyes and he lunged himself forward over Clove, punching Cato directly in the cheek. The blonde leaned backward and swiped a small sword that was resting behind the couch. Fuming, Dicey inched forward even more, "Mars loved you. He would have done anything for you."

Cato swallowed, his eyes narrow with an expression just as furious as Dicey's. He sat there, shaking dangerously, "Don't you think I know that already, captain asshole?"

"Stop it!" Clove screamed at them. Her arm lunged forward in an attempt to disarm Cato. Reflexively, he swiped at her collar bone. His eyes widened. The clean slice was soon marred by droplets of blood. Dicey snatched her wrist and threw her behind him. She hit the ground roughly, with the auburn-haired boy now as a shield.

"Go away," Cato ordered, cocooning himself as if to block out the world around him.

Dicey responded coolly, "Like I trust you to be alone at a moment like this." He turned to Clove for a moment. He opened his mouth, before snapping his eyes shut and crying out in pain.

"Leave me alone!" Cato screamed, tears streaming down his face. He stared at the cut on Dicey's back, a nice diagonal slice that was much deeper than Clove's, "I don't need anyone! I'll do it all on my own."

Clove leaped forward, catching Dicey in her arms. She gaped at the slice across his back. Dicey's breathing became unsteady and he lifted his t-shirt overhead and threw it to the ground, "How bad is it?"

"Cato, we need to get this bandaged now. Where do you keep your supplies?"

His heart was beating at a million miles an hour, but he remained silent. Clove's collarbone was bleeding and Dicey was in much poorer shape, "Cato!" Clove screamed out.

"Get out of here!"

"He could bleed out. Cato, please..."

"Wouldn't be the first time I lent a hand in someone's death today," the blonde said, trying to wipe away all the tears but they wouldn't stop coming.

Clove tackled Cato, grabbing the collar of his shirt and seethed, "She was going to say anything to get a reaction. It wasn't your fault she used you as a distraction."

"But that's all I've ever been for Mars. A distraction! and now he's dead." Dicey was a sickly white. He didn't like this, not at all. He couldn't handle being the cause of death for another person today. Wasn't this what he was trained for? Nothing made sense anymore, "Get out, get out!" he screamed, holding his head.

Clove jumped off the couch and struggled to lean Dicey over her shoulder. The intensity of Dicey's expression haunted him. It was an unnerving cross between concern and understanding. Clove dragged Dicey out of the Elroy's home and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Bravery had never been one of his strong suits.

Bravery was more of a _Felix thing_. Along with the willingness to explore any opportunity and taking risks. It was easier for him, though. Everything was easier for Felix Grey.

So when Cato turned to knob ever so slowly, he bit his lip. It was a terrible habit, one his teachers constantly admonished him for. The door opened, followed by a light that flickered. This was what was left of Mars Elroy: a wall decorated with weapons and medals. It was colorless. A scheme of black and grey. Maybe, it was an omen. Maybe, it was his mind playing tricks on him.

His bed was unkempt, just as it had been the morning of the reaping. Mars never made the bed and apparently never cleaned much of anything else in his room, because there were books everywhere. Books on the floor and littering his desk, books on the crook of his bed, and books haphazardly laying on his bookshelf.

Cato sat on the bed, snatching up a few of the books from under the covers. He squinted his eyes. Books on strategy for Intermediates: Level II and Level III. What the hell was Mars doing reading this nonsense? These were the sort of things kids Clove's age read.

He scoffed bitterly. Dylan Sanders wouldn't have ever caught her off-guard. Clove was always quick to ascertain her enemy's greatest weaknesses. Cato grabbed one of the books and flung it at the wall. It wasn't fair. Mars deserved to live. More than Clove or Nero of Felix or whoever else. He would sit through a thousand lectures if it meant his brother coming back to him.

Who was going to stand guard when he failed to meet his parents' expectations and who was going laugh with him on even the worst nights and then promise him tomorrow would be better? His brother was the only person in his damn family worth coming home to. Sure, he was an asshole, but Mars was his. They only needed each other.

Nero was the sharpest of his so called friends, but he was a diplomat and medic, not a soldier. He was an archer and about the only thing he had in common with Cato's brother was his stocky build and his ability to talk his way out of anything. Except for his death. Mars couldn't talk himself out of that. Dylan certainly did a lot of talking, though. Taunted him for speaking so fondly of Cato during his interview and then embedded her spear further into his abdomen with a gut-wrenching twist.

And Mars had to fuck him up, had to break him into a million pieces, had to have his last few words: _ Sorry, Cato__. _

He didn't want any goddamn apologies! He was just so tired. The blonde burrowed himself into the sheets, wiping the tears from his eyes, and drifted off, imagining in his sleepy state that he was just a little closer to his older brother.

In the early hours of the day, the sun illuminated the room, bringing in what might have been the only source of light in the entire room. Cato yawned, turned his head and nuzzled into the pillow even more. He pulled it closer to him, only to be poked by a rough edge. Another damn book.

He groaned, lifting the book into the air and blinked a few times. A pen fell onto his chest. Cato glanced at the untitled text curiously and peered inside. He flipped through the pages to find the entire contents of the book were handwritten. Fascinating. He'd never seen a handwritten book before. The very first page of the book was dated October 19th, Year 62.

_Dad got me this book for my 12th birthday. He suggested I use it for my Games History course, but something about you seems special. Besides, I already have a notebook for class, but if it means that much to him I'll allow you to take both responsibilities. You can be a place where I can share my thoughts, but also be a key part of my journey to greatness. I may never write in you again, but you're mine to do with as I want. _

He flew through several pages about the 50th Hunger Games, which noted that the victor was a boy from District Twelve. Mars had marked several details, including a ranking list of the last six tributes, a star to note that this game was a quell, and a circle around a sentence stating that the victor had no particular weapon of choice.

Various other entries detailed his personal life. Questions about why his friend Livingston had a girlfriend, but he didn't. A badly-drawn doodle of a map of Panem in which he tried to guess what each of the districts offered to the Capitol. A bullet list of his rankings in each training area and scribbles about how he planned to improve.

Cato made a small calculation and found an page dated May 16th, year 63. Mars' examination for potential tribute. The top of the entry was marked by several sentences he had tried to start, but scratched out. Halfway through the page, his brother had listed:

_Clay Widell - Age 33 -__Convicted of attempting to escape from 'incarceration' _

Which was followed by a definition of the word incarceration. Below the sparing details, Mars had written several sentences beginning with the phrase "He deserved it because": he made a mockery of District 2. he did something bad that got him locked up in the first place. he dishonored the peacekeepers that work so hard to keep us safe.

On the back page, Mars specified that his weapon had been an axe, which he tried to use to make the death as quick as possible. He failed in that endeavor, saying the whole thing was less rewarding than he had expected. He sincerely believed that the criminals deserved death, but felt that he didn't think he should be the one giving it to them. He confessed feelings of restlessness, discomfort, and nervousness. Mars asked himself what he would do when Cato began his training courses and how he would justify the things occurring around him.

Cato frowned. Just how many times was he in Mars' record book? Cato skimmed several entries about the transition to middle school and how much he disliked his grammar teacher. The pages got dry, so he skipped forward to early year 65. This time higher-ranked students took center stage, and Mars complained about how much he disliked his peers. Cato shrugged. He had never realized how long-winded his brother was about the silliest of problems.

In April, he had penciled in:

_The five think they're only students in the annex worth paying attention, but they're kidding themselves if they think I'm going down without a fight. Mazzon, Jediah, Caius, Ryden, and Armor. Yeah, they're good, but there's probably a lot better out there. Slashed my arm during training and Ryden helped me clean up. I thought he was pretty alright until he demanded that I go to the Medical Annex. I kept trying to figure out what's worse, some rich kid ruining my reputation or mom and pops losing their mind. The entire visit I brainstormed ways to pay off the bill. Wondering if they'd extend it until my stipend begins in July, but that asshole decided to pay for the whole thing instead. Probably trying to embarrass me to the rest of the five. He looked so affronted when I pushed him off and told him not to bother me. I don't care how good he is. If he says anything, I won't hesitate to rip his arm off. _

An entry followed in early May that detailed how worried he was when Ryden sprained his foot and that his attempts to be comforting were ruined when he accidentally kissed him. _Accidentally, my ass_, Cato thought to himself. Mars called himself an idiot and lamented that whatever he friendship he had developed with the black haired boy was probably wrecked now. This was followed by another entry that had been carefully inscribed:

_Ryden found me this morning. Said he was shocked that I was gay, but that he wasn't upset. I tried to tell him that I'm not gay, but he only smiled. He slung an arm around my shoulder with this stupid grin, only saying that he had a good feeling about me. Whatever the hell that means. Our communication styles are so different that it's hard to get a read off him. He's got a great laugh though. I don't know why, but I like hearing it. He's just so damn happy that it makes me nervous to mess anything up._

Then an entry dated mid-May was written so hurriedly that it reminded Cato of the time he wrote an essay right before class.

_Ryden_ _kissed me. Said he heard from Livingston that I was sick, so he found my address in the student directory and paid a driver to bring him over. He acted like some sort of caretaker for the old. Brought me water, made me comfortable, and even cooked lunch. I told him it wasn't a good idea to be ditching training, but he just laughed and said some things are more important. Can't say I feel the same way. It was my own fault in the first place; I shouldn't have taken from Cato's snack mix, especially when I knew it had almonds. While I rested, he read through a book, and I admit it was sort of cute to see him read. When I woke up I was so surprised to see him still sitting there that I couldn't help myself but to smile. He felt my forehead and said that I seemed to be doing a lot better and when I told him it was okay for him to leave, he just smiled, leaned forward, and kissed me. And I don't know... I think I liked it. I think I like him. _

Cato snarled at the book, shutting it tight. No wonder Mars lost. Unwinding himself from the sheets, he picked up every book he could find and laid them onto the desk. He organized them by height and set as many onto the shelf as possible. Those that didn't fit, he left in a small pile on the desk. Cato stared restlessly at the books, "For once, I cleaned up your mess."

Sinking back onto the bed, Cato looked towards the last few pages. Mars had finished all the materials for high school, but wouldn't graduate with his class because of the Games. One night he saw a film on television about a fictionalized version of the hunger games where twin siblings won the games together. Mars critiqued the film, saying the game designers would never let two players win and spoke of how he felt that winning with someone else just wasn't as rewarding.

What struck Cato most, however, were the entries on him. His throat tightened as he spilled over pages about how smart Mars thought he was and his fondness for Cato's imagination. Tears reappeared. All of these words, feelings, and affections had been used against him. His last moments were soiled by Dylan's chastising. It was all so unjust. She turned Mars' very foundation against him by accusing him of failing to keep his promise to his 'darling little brother.' The promise to return home and build a better life for them both.

It wouldn't happen to him, Cato decided. Whatever attachment he had to his friends was only the first item on a long list of things to go.

* * *

**AN - **We get a few glimpses between the film and the novel that suggest Cato is more than a just killing machine. In outlining the basic premise for this story, I decided his humanity had to be instilled by someone closer to him than Clove or his other friends, but certainly not parents willing to throw their child into a battle to death. Apologies for the exposition dump with Mars. I see him as an ordinary, overprotective brother and nothing more. My goal was to convey how we tend to idealize others in death. As for Cato, I'll just say that he's learning all the wrong lessons from his brother's passing. This chapter marks the end of year 69, which means in the following chapters, our trouble-making blonde will be in junior high.


	12. The Sinner and Saints

The biggest fish in the river gets that way by never being caught.

- Unknown

* * *

**Recap /** Two weeks into 69th Annual Hunger Games, Cato's brother was killed by the female tribute from District Four. He placed in third, with Dylan Sanders dying of wounds sustained from their fight. Afflicted by guilt, Cato reacted negatively to his friend's attempts at being comforting and ended up hurting them both before kicking them out of his home. A few weeks later, Cato snuck into Mars' room seeking closure. In doing so, he realized his brother may not have been in the healthiest mindset himself before he left for the games. Cato also discovered Mars' journal, detailing various key moments in his life, including his examination, his relationship with his peers, and the first time he realized he might be gay. All too shaken by the personal information overload, Cato swore his enemies would never have the same emotional leverage over him as Dylan Sanders had over his Mars. In promising this to himself, he swore to sever all ties to his friends.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 70_

It was a feeling of elation. Temporary and physical. And to Dicey, entirely immoral. He despised himself for enjoying it.

He hummed internally as it came to a crashing close and then his eyes fluttered open.

"Clove, get off." Dicey ordered, pushing the brunette off of him and sending her tumbling onto the ground with a thud. He grimaced and extended his left hand. This was not how he had wanted to begin this conversation, "Sorry, sorry."

Clove stared at him with a pissed off expression and climbed back onto the bed, "Thanks a lot, Dicey."

Dicey took in a breath, shook his head, and lost himself in the sheets. "Can't do this anymore," he mumbled.

"Do what?"

"This! Whatever it is. I can't keep using you. It's-"

"Well, actually I'm the one using-" He shot her a threatening expression and she threw her arms into the air. Clove turned away from him and he pulled the sheets up to her shoulders.

His brown eyes were shining with anticipation, "Clo, you're my friend. My best friend."

She snorted as if it didn't matter, "Yeah, and you're my only friend. So what?"

"Well, no," he frowned and rubbed his lips, "There's also Nero."

Clove only rolled her eyes.

She turned to him, waiting for him to pick out his words carefully. Thankfully, her sister was in a survival skills private and her father was at work, otherwise Dicey wouldn't be laying there fumbling over nothing.

His stomach churned and he squeezed a pillow to lessen his frustration, "I want you for the rest of my life. Alright? Even when I'm old and have a wife or a baby-"

Dicey looked directly at Clove as if he'd been struck by lightning, "A baby- Clove!"

"I don't bleed yet."

Oh, well that only made him feel _worse_. 7th grade. Clove was in the 7th grade. She was only a kid. Hell, he was barely nine months older than her. Hadn't the older students always said that the more partners, the better? They were so full of- He grabbed Clove's right hand, "I feel like my insides have been doused in acid."

"I'm that bad?" she inquired flatly.

His perplexed face only made her want to laugh, "No. I don't know? I mean, it's not like it's painful or anything."

She turned away from him again. "Not for you," she muttered before she could stop herself.

Dicey's stomach knotted, nausea washing over him. "What?" he demanded, "If I was hurting you, why wouldn't you say anything?"

"The girls in class said it's supposed to hurt."

Dicey didn't bother mentioning that he didn't care what the dumb girls in her class thought. It was her fault for listening to them in the first place. He glared at her, "but I wouldn't want it to. If you wanted a painful experience, we could have fist-fought. This was supposed to be fun," he muttered the last sentence as if he'd been personally insulted.

"It was never fun for you," she sniped in return.

He hesitated, feeling all the worse, "The first time was alright. I felt bad for a while though, because your mom had just died and you weren't doing this because you wanted to. I should have been nervous, but I was too excited. You know, to finally be a man and everything. You were nice too. Sweet, even. I like you for you, Clo, but it's nicer when you care."

"And if I were nicer, you'd continue?"

He flushed. Despite having seen her unclothed several times, he felt abashed. This was too intimate, too candid. She didn't see anything wrong with this. Of course, she didn't. She was Clove.

He outstretched his arms and brought her back into his chest, "You're important to me, okay? Like Callan and Halle and my mom. You're a part of my family. I don't want to ruin that because we're doing these things together or because we've 'paired off.' I prefer you with a sneaky look on your face than with a dead look in your eyes."

She nestled in closer to him, and quietly conceded. "You better not leave me alone, Wilder. I'll find you."

His face split into a grin, "And do what? Last time you fought me, you were a junior trainee."

She broke away from the embrace and pulled on a t-shirt. Clove turned to him with a snort, "Yeah, and I still won."

Dicey began a search for his own clothing and Clove pulled on the rest of hers. When he finished dressing, he threw a foam ball at her in response to the comment, "That's only because you were crazy. A fantastic little runt."

She leaped onto him and the two fell backward onto the wooded floor. Dicey pinned her down and held his body weight against her, "Get off of me, fatass!" she squealed, and his laughter filled the room. _This was much, much better._

He rose from the ground, dragging Clove with him to the kitchen. Dicey rummaged through the Holloway pantry and snatched a bag of snacks, "You ever miss Cato?"

Clove's posture tightened, "That asshole left us, thought he was too good for us. Let him rot."

He nodded slowly in agreement. "Let's go out and make a snowman!" Dicey said with a mischievous look on his face.

"A what?"

He extended a jacket to Clove, "I heard in the districts out east that they take the snow and create things out of them. Like art and stuff."

Clove tied her shoes and the two of them stepped into the December air, "So, what, we're going to make things out of sand? Cause unless you have enough money to take a trip to Two North, I don't think that's happening," she furrowed her brows, and added an accentuated "ever."

"In five years, you'll win the games and buy all of Two North for me. I can wait."

"And in five years you and Annie banannie from District Four can get married," she said with a cheeky smile. When she saw his pale face, her Cheshire grin only widened.

* * *

Cato grumbled. He didn't remember being this sloppy in his technique when he was eight. Two years of training had apparently done nothing for these pipsqueaks. Why did he of all people have to teach this session? **  
**

"Alright! Gather around, curtain climbers. We're going to practice a defensive tactic."

A stream of children collected in a circle, with Magnilda and her two friends towards the back. Cato was thankful the session was voluntary, so instead of a hundred brats, he only had about thirty or so instead. He ordered the students to quietly pair up and get into two parallel lines. At the end of his lines were two boys teasing another for not having anyone to pair up with.

"You two, leave."

Their stricken faces looked up to him, aghast, but too fearful to say anything. They left the classroom with sullen expressions.

"No more of that, alright? The taunting and comments aren't necessary and they don't make you a better fighter. Kid, you're partnered with me, so I hope you can keep up."

The boy nodded and stepped forward dutifully. He was shorter than some of his classmates, but seemed sturdy enough. Good, Cato thought, let's see what you got.

"Line on the left, I want you to make five punches. Those in the right, I want you to use your forearm to defend. When the last punch comes in, defend, and then punch them right back in the solar plexus. Nelle, I want you and your friend to demonstrate."

Magnilda stepped forward, allowing her friend to pick her position. The other girl got into an offensive posture and at the raise of a hand, ran through a succession of punches. At the last punch, Magnilda blocked the hit and went onto the offensive and struck the blonde girl in the chest.

He nodded. Cato waved two fingers in a circular motion and the students began.

His partner, a brown-eyed brunette leaped forward for each punch. At the last punch, Cato defended, and made a soft hit to the boy's stomach, "You know, I wouldn't have even needed to hit you to win. The leaping is fine, until you fall flat onto your face."

The kid's eyes widened, "Thank you." He was rather soft-spoken for an eight year old.

"Don't thank me yet."

With a minor calculation, he sent a punch directly towards the kid's neck. The boy ducked, and delivered a fist into his abdomen. It didn't do much, but Cato was still satisfied with the results. "You remind me of this friend I used to have."

The boy averted his gaze, "And why aren't you friends anymore?

"We grew apart."

He didn't bother to hide his curiosity, "Is he strong?"

"In a way," Cato shrugged, observing the group of students who continued working through the move set, "How does Felix normally run this class?"

The boy did a side-sweep assessment, a technique taught to first year students and tried to think of the right way to form his sentences, "It's more like a boxing ring. He throws some of us in and has the rest of us watch. Says we learn best from watching from other people's mistakes."

Cato muttered a few choice sentiments to himself, "Anybody he particularly likes?"

The boy tried hard not to smile, "Just the two you kicked out."

"I meant it, kid. The taunting and teasing, it isn't necessary. A kill is a kill. A clean slice, a slit throat, whatever your poison. The goal of the games is to be the last one standing and that's what I intend to be," He wound and unwound his hand, "What's your name anyway?"

"Oliver Carson."

Cato opened his mouth to say something, but shut it. This was just some random kid. He wasn't Felix and he wasn't about to play favorites, "Alright, send Nelle over here and go train with her partner."

He glanced over the class, counting to himself: eighteen boys and thirteen girls. Magnilda stood by him, not speaking a word. Every few seconds, her eyes would dart back to Oliver and her friend and then would return to him.

"Are you going to teach this class all the time?"

He shook his head, "I'm just filling in for Felix for today and maybe in the future. He needs to plan his privates around his teaching. I'm not good at this sort of stuff."

"Clove was pretty mad at him for making her train an extra day this week, but he's a way better teacher to her than to us. At least with you here we all got to practice something."

Cato moved to lean against a wall and beckoned Magnilda towards him. In her first year of training, she'd looked so very much like Clove. In the following years, she'd gotten taller than Clove had been and heavier too. The stocky and solid type, just like Nero. A combat pragmatist, she was built to be on the front-line offensive, "Are you sure Felix is teaching Clove? She's not really his type."

She pursed her lips together, unsure, "They've been working together so long that she keeps it all to herself, but I heard him saying she needs to work harder for the Quell. She said a lot of mean things to him after that."

Cato could only imagine why. "She's dumb. That asshole is nothing more than a con artist and she's being unwound at the seams," he scoffed to Magnilda, who only looked confused.

He suppressed the urge to throw one of the kids into the wall and crack their skull open. He needed someone to break.

All the lectures he'd received about waiting until the 76th games so he'd be at his 'full capability' were all a part of Felix's tricks. At the time, he chalked it up to him going through puberty or something. Did he really think Clove of all people was going to win the hunger games? Especially a damn quell? Admittedly, he hadn't watched Clove since they'd stopped talking, but he doubted that she had gotten that much better in the last year and half.

Felix Grey was a master at wasting his own time.

* * *

"I picked Cato."

"He was the only one eligible. Everyone else taps out at the Quell, but something tells me you already knew that a long time ago."

The black-haired boy drenched himself in water, "I had to make sure he'd improve"

She eyed him hazily, listing various strategies for a beach arena, like the one used in the 66th hunger games. The illustrated guide had a section on the questions each tribute must ask themselves when stepping into an arena. Cashmere Morgan's head shot gleamed in the corner of the page, "And how does he plan to go out with a bang, then?"

"By killing everyone."

Clove scoffed, "What an inventive strategy. He really brings a lot to the table, that Cato Elroy."

"Don't test me, Holloway."

She narrowed her eyes at him, "How much does Cato know?"

Felix shifted his eyes slightly, "Not much, but I got you the damn quell. You were right. He really wanted it, but it won't look as good. No, it's better with you in the middle."

"Make up a different approach, then. Indestructible killing machine has been seen a dozen times, especially in the last fifteen years."

Felix smirked, "That's why I like you, H. You're a sharper knife than any of us, but don't forget that you're the glue. You die in the 75th and you fuck it up for all of us, so worry less about Cato and more about your own strategy."

"You threaten me one more time and I could care less if you're the 'best of the best.' I'll have you in a casket for Mama Grey before sundown."

His smirk only widened, "Ellery Watson had no idea what she was doing when brought the two of us together. Damn, I can't wait to see what you can do. But remember, kid, I'll be the one controlling your sponsor money after I win. So you better be on your best behavior."

* * *

**AN -** While in college, I earned two minors: social work and family studies. It should go without saying that I do not approve of Clove and Dicey's sexual relationship. They're too, too young in my opinion, but I figure in a world where children are trained to fight to the death, people starve while the rich binge and purge for pleasure, and the president assumed his role after poisoning all his competitors, well... I don't know. Underage sex probably isn't too important to them.

Writing Dicey is really hard, because while Clove and Cato tend to be more emotionally cut off (except for anger), he's open about everything. I originally created him as a sort of reckless foil to Cato, but as I went on, I realized that sincerity was something Cato really needed in a friend and that's why Dicey tends to vacillate so much between being ticked off and a vulnerable mess. Felix is easiest to write because he's just as sharp-tongued as Clove and that's more along my style of communique.


	13. The Assailant

There is no such thing as bravery, only degrees of fear.

- John Wainwright

* * *

**Recap / **It had been a year and half since Mars' passing. In that time, Clove and Dicey had begun engaging in regular sexual activity. Dicey was uncomfortable with this level of intimacy with Clove, who he'd grown especially close to after Cato cut the two of them out of his life, and told her as much. Cato substituted for Felix in a class of third year junior trainees and found most of the kids weren't too fond of Felix's teaching style. Clove wasn't too fond of him either, as she expressed annoyance at the thought of Cato completing their trio for the three year plan. Felix and Clove had a hot and cold discussion about what approach they thought the blonde boy should use in the 76th Annual Hunger Games.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 71_

"Happy new year, Cato!"

He nodded a vague sign of gratitude to the black haired woman, who was cheering at the fireworks. His father watched the small explosions alertly, and then turned back to her, kissing her, and taking a sip of red wine. When the blonde baby in Cato's arms grabbed a clump of his shirt, he gave it a warning glance and held onto it even tighter, "Don't turn into a delinquent. We've already got too many of those in this family."

"Are you going to come celebrate, boy?"

Cato remained indifferent, "Just thinking of mom on her own."

His father gave him a wary look, "She had you last year, Cato."

The woman beside him huffed predictably. Taking a sip of wine, she bitterly critiqued "That women should be locked up. She's an animal."

_You'd have to find a cage strong enough_, Cato thought.

"Sunni, she's still his mother," his father admonished, the height difference between the two of them rather amusing. Cato wondered if he'd grow to be as tall as him. They had the same cornsilk hair color and dark blue eyes, but his father had a milder disposition. Cato was optimistic, though, noting that if his father's blonde hair could have overridden Sundara's black locks with the baby, then he'd surely inherit his towering build.

His stepmother continued drinking her wine. She seemed to be making up for last new years and maybe the year before that, too. For such a tiny little thing, Sundara was as aggressive as his real mother, but with only a quarter of the capability. Of course, instead of directing that energy somewhere useful, she was a typist.

Cato turned on the television just as a special on the victors of District II began. His eyes widened and he swiftly changed it to a television show about the Capitol's nicest homes. Anything was better than Sundara babbling about how she and Mina Carrold, the victor of the 58th Hunger Games, had been classmates.

He snatched a sandwich from a tray. Sundara said it was against her conscience to let a young boy starve. Cato wondered if this was the same conscience that stole his father from his mother in a 'one night stand' - _As if_, Cato thought - two years ago and then showed up in the fall announcing that she was pregnant.

The baby fussed in his arms and Sundara was at his side in an instant, "Looks like Oliver's hungry. I'll get him a bottle and bring him back to you in a minute."

Cato looked into his brother's eyes and frowned. "Uh, no thanks. I think I'll just go to bed. Good night, dad, Sundara."

The two watched him as he left for the guest bedroom. "Such a polite boy," Sundara observed, cooing at baby Oliver. Cato's father murmured his assent, and they set the baby down to sleep, hoping for better things in the new year.

* * *

"This is a bad idea."

"Do you think I should use Marley or Denton?"

"I repeat, Felix Alexander Grey, this is a bad idea."

"I heard you the first time, _Nero H. Kaiser_," Felix mocked, turning into the boy's locker room. He sneered at first years who watched him carefully. After Nero pushed his duffle bag into his locker, Felix ripped the name tag off of it and held it out to him. "What does the H stand for? "

"We've been done everything together since third grade, Felix. Just listen to me for once. This is not a good idea."

"And seeing as how we've been partners in crime for nearly six and half years, you should know better by now than to try and stop me."

Nero's movements stagnated, and he snatched the name tag back from Felix, before slapping it onto his locker. "When did you turn into fucking Ellery Watson?" Felix stood there, dumbfounded. "The H stands for Holloway. Fucking Holloway. If you want to test Cato, then have one of the instructors do it."

Felix seemed to consider his proposition for a moment, watching the steaming boy with amusement, and then lazily placed his arms behind his head and carelessly said, "Nah, it's not the same. The games just aren't like that. You never know when someone is going to come at you."

"If the rest of Cato's friends are like you, then probably soon," Nero grit out.

Felix looked almost proud at the accusation before brushing him off, "I already have one Holloway up my ass. I don't need another one. Why the hell did you keep such a valuable piece of information to yourself, anyways?"

"Yeah, about that- Leave Clove out of your plan for world domination."

"I don't think so, Nee. That minx is real good. I don't think I'll find another one like her."

Nero yanked Felix back by the arm, with a lethal expression in his eyes. "I lost my dad to the games and then my aunt to heart problems. If you're even a little bit human, you won't take Clove from me too."

"When the hell did you decide to start caring about her?" Felix sneered.

"Probably around the same time you stopped paying attention."

Felix pulled his arm out of Nero's grasp, "I'm not human. I'm a born victor."

"For everyone else's sake, let's hope you never procreate."

A malicious smile spread across Felix's face, "When you're this talented, they line themselves around the block."

"Hopefully for an eye exam."

Felix's lips thinned, "You should be a lot more grateful. I'm giving that little girl's life more significance than she ever could ever dream of. What do you plan to do after graduation, work in the damn quarries? Not fucking me. So tread carefully."

"I hope selling your soul to the devil was worth it."

"Marley or Denton?" Felix demanded.

"Denton."

* * *

Callan stared at Dicey expectantly, looking about ready to implode. Halle hooked her hand in his, and Callan squeezed back, looking her over with nervous expression. "It's okay, Cal. It'll be okay," she said to him softly. He squeezed her hand even harder.

"You cover her at school. I've got the annex."

The younger boy swallowed, his chocolate-colored locks falling in front of his eyes as he looked down towards the ground, "School, yeah. I can cover that. Promise."

Dicey leaned in, resting his hands on Callan's shoulders. "Hey, hey. Don't cry. She's okay. We're okay. Crying isn't going to make it go away. We just have to stick together." He smiled at Halle, "That's not a problem, is it?"

She shook her head, and wrapped her arms around Callan. He wasn't much taller than her, maybe a few inches, but right now he looked decades older, "I'll train harder so I can protect myself."

"Good. Do that, Hal." He coughed harshly, and turned away, "Me too."

"Halle, I think it's better if you don't come with us to the market for a while. We'll cover you," Dicey said, mentally calculating which days he'd fight and the days in which Callan would need him as backup for his pickpocketing.

She immediately protested, "I want to do my part. Dicey, I'll be stronger. I promise!" Halle buried her head into Callan's shoulder, and he rubbed her back reassuringly, not daring to let go.

"I know, Halle. It'll just make me feel better." Their heads both rose, with Callan's dark locks and Halle's considerably lighter hair contrasting. Callan looked quiet, but protective, and Halle was concerned, but defiant, "Look, we're good for a few days and then mom will have enough for a few meals."

Halle looked back at an enlarged portrait of Wyatt Almoy, his sword raised towards the sky, with his last enemy's severed head on the end, "You're not going to volunteer, are you?"

Dicey averted his eyes, "No, not if I have the choice. Felix is gunning for that spot and I don't really plan on interfering." The unspoken sentence that he would do what he had to if worst came to worst settled anxiously in the trio's stomachs.

"I gotta go. close combat at 3. Hal?"

She nodded and looked at Dicey, "Sorry I didn't listen. I'm going to do what I said. Get stronger."

"Stay close, you two."

Their responses rung out and they left together, with Callan's arm slung around her shoulder. He could do it. Dicey knew he could. He put his face in his hands and took several deep breaths.

It's okay, it's okay... The man didn't get her, he thought. Halle is safe. Safe, but scared, and how could I let her go on her own? If the man had stolen her away from us... Mom would have lost her mind.

His head felt heavy. This day had gone over like a lead balloon.

"Trouble in paradise with the bed buddy?"

Dicey prayed that if there was a god that Cato would evaporate into thin air. He wondered if ignoring him would help in this aspiration. After all, If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will...

"Oh come on now, you can't be that bad in sack," Cato goaded. Clove once said she enjoyed teasing Dicey because of his facial expressions. He hoped she was kidding. Apparently not, though, as Cato's next sentence was said- well, no- screamed in a mixture of fear and disgust, "I didn't think you were actually doing it! What the hell?"

If there's a will, there's a way. If there's a will, there's a way. Dicey tried to pull away, but it was more difficult on the floor than it would have been if he'd been standing, "Aren't you going to justify what you're doing?"

Dicey only muttered, "I don't have to explain anything to you."

"Clove is just a little kid!" Dicey backed even further away from the feral-looking Cato. Yeah, he thought, and so is Halle. It doesn't make them any more immune to what's out there.

He could tolerate Cato not being his friend, but why the hell did he have to be his enemy? "What Clo and I do is none of your business, C."

"It's against the annex rules to force someone into sex." Dicey blanched, losing all coloring in his face, and tried to steady himself as Cato continued, "And too, too many people are breaking the rules. Cohort 63 needs some serious overhaul, before the first year PTs lose their respect and the upperclassmen grow tired of our disappointing performances. This is a rule I won't let escape me."

Dicey scoffed. "Your sense of justice is totally twisted."

"I'll fight you."

He grinned, itching for the opportunity, "Yeah? With what stakes?"

"Stop making that face. I'll win, and then we'll see who's smiling."

"As long as you stop talking, I don't really care." Dicey said, losing any trace of good humor. Cato frowned at him, before reaching into a silver barrel.

Cato dug in further and withdrew two wooden swords, "Three lethal shots. The winner keeps his pride. The loser loses his life."

"Fair enough," Dicey said in response. Jumping to his feet, he studied Cato with a satisfied expression.

"Whose count?"

"Yours," Dicey said, with a smirk on his face.

"One," he looked at the mirrors behind them, "two." Followed by a glace at the displays of weaponry, "three!"

Cato launched forward, his sword headed towards Dicey. The smaller boy thrust his sword upwards as Cato's descended on him, and blocked his attack. The blonde moved back quickly, before coming at him once again. Dicey ducked, backing away in a jumble of steps. He caught his footing and went for a strike, but Cato easily blocked the hit.

Again, Cato descended on him. This time, Dicey turned to the side, almost rolling away, and slapped the top of Cato's ribcage with the wooden sword. Cato's expression intensified and Dicey leaped backwards, trying to regroup.

A lethal spot. He needed a lethal spot.

He lost a breath of air as the blonde came extremely close to his throat. Dicey ducked a second time and thrust the sword against the lower portion of Cato's ribcage. His instructors were right after all. The simplest techniques are often the most useful. He'd keep that in mind. "One," he said with a cheeky grin to Cato.

Cato turned and swiped quickly at him. Dicey's eyes widened and he stepped back, before falling. Cato stepped forward swiftly, and rested his sword on Dicey's throat, "Don't be arrogant, Dice."

Dicey retrieved his sword and swung it at Cato's knees. Cato jumped away from the hit, moving just long enough for Dicey to get back up, and jump forward. Cato rolled away, and swung his sword to defend against Dicey's next strike, which was towards his waist. He backed away, then started forward quickly, and commanded the sword directly into his abdomen.

"Two to one."

"Two to one," Dicey agreed, catching his breath for only a second.

He moved back as Cato came for a second strike, and jumped forward, swinging his sword upwards. The sword made a harsh point of contact with Cato's armpit.

Dicey withdrew immediately, knowing within seconds that Cato would come for his neck. This time, he purposely fell backwards, and and rolled away. Cato came for his abdomen, but Dicey was easily able to avert most of his strikes, only cutting it close a few times. He thrust the sword upwards into the open air and Cato smacked it with his own sword. Dicey's sword went flying away from both of them. Cato struck him twice, but both points were non-lethal. He went for a third strike, but Dicey slid backwards, inching towards his only means of defense.

Cato went for his throat and he barely skimmed by an inch or so. Dicey waved his hands around erratically for the sword, before feeling the familiar grip. He swung it just in time to defend himself from the oncoming attack and forced himself into a standing position. He backed away, waiting for Cato's assault. He ducked, ready for the sword to make impact with his neck. It was too late, though. The sword instead struck him right where his liver was.

Dicey fell to the floor, clutching his side, his eyes shut firmly. The pace of his breathing increased and he couldn't stop himself from crying out. Cato examined him from a small distance and clenched his teeth. Shit, he thought to himself. Suddenly he was glad he had picked wooden swords, though from the look of excruciating pain on the smaller boy's face, it might as well have been a real machete.

"That's what you get for breaking annex rules," he responded grimly to Dicey's hisses of pain.

"Well, I guess I deserve it then," the boy spit back bitterly, begging silently for reprieve. He let out a string of expletives when he remembered why Cato had wanted to fight him in the first place. "Can't force Clo to do anything," he grit out, crying out in pain shortly afterwards.

"She's twelve years old."

His conscience had said the same things for months. Clove is twelve. You're going to break her. Clove is too young. You're being selfish. Clove needs a friend. You're just as bad as everyone else.

His head ached as he tried to understand what had happened. Halle. Some man had tried to kidnap Halle. How could he have been so stupid as to leave his 10 year old sister on her own for even a minute. Dicey thanked for small miracles.

Dicey could hear Cato trailing the mat, tracing around his kill. He blinked slowly, acutely aware of the tears wetting his cheeks, but they weren't his own.

* * *

**AN** - Sundara is about 30, Mr. Elroy is 42, and Oliver will turn a year old in March. Dicey and Cato's fight was enjoyable to write, because I prefer action to communication (probably not good for my personal life). Dicey and Cato have a different assortment of skills. Cato is offense-oriented, his weakness being that he has trouble predicting other people's next strike. Dicey is better with evasive tactics. He's a street fighter, after all. However, just as in life, you can't dodge things forever. Eventually, they'll catch up with you.


	14. The World From Your Eyes

"If all my friends were to jump off a bridge, I wouldn't follow. I'd be at the bottom to catch them when they fall."

- Anonymous

* * *

**[A Selection of Scenes Unexplored]**

_Hunger Games Year 65 - May  
Clove is a first year, age 7. Cato is a second year, age 7.  
_

"Cato!"

He'd wondered if Clove was going to make an appearance. Usually, he had a 50/50 chance of her observing his exams.

"You did so good! I wanna be as good as you next year." She looped her hands around his waist, hiding her face from his curious eyes. His eyes widened in response, but he beamed a second later. Clove was so confusing sometimes.

"Thanks, cutes. It was a lotta' work," he murmured, with a scratchy voice as looked at the towering lockers. Cato wondered how long it would take for some of the other boys to return, but pushed the thought out of his head. He could be nice just this once.

She withdrew her hands and looked up to him with a soft glare, "Stop calling me cute. I'm getting stronger every day, okay?" As if to prove it, she flexed her arms.

"You can be more than one," He teased, grinning at her. She really was fun to provoke.

"Who cares about being cute, when you could be smart instead?" she inquired, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. Her hair was in a severe braid that made Cato glad to be a boy with short hair.

"I'm already all three."

"You're lucky you're even one," she shot back, sticking out her tongue.

He tugged on her braid, "And which one is that?"

She bit her lip, looked away, and quickly mumbled, "I really like your eyes, but maybe you'll get smarter and stronger when you're older."

Thanks, Clove, he thought to himself bitterly. He gave her an admonishing expression at the jab. "I think you're cute too." Cato teased, batting his big, blue eyes just for her.

She looked at him accusingly and sternly corrected, "I'm smart. NOT cute. Smart is better."

"Well, I think you're all three," he responded shamelessly. Cato hid a laugh at her flush. He bit his tongue, knowing that any laughter on his part would lead to an extremely early death. Still, her cuteness reminded him of a small hare, easily destroyed.

"You promised you would train me."

He frowned, grabbing a water bottle from his duffel bag. "I didn't think you were serious."

"Well, I was!"

"Why can't you train with the other girls in 64?" He asked, gazing longingly at his day clothes.

She looked at him with an annoyed expression. Maybe a small hare wasn't the right metaphor. Clove was more like a hissing kitten. "Because I don't like them."

"But you like me?"

Clove refused to dignify his inquiry with a response.

"Fine, but just this once," he grabbed her braid for emphasis, "Alright?"

Her eyes flared with defiance and she crossed her arms. Cato threw his bag at her, and she opened her mouth to voice her complaints.

"Nothing in life is free. Let's go." He ordered, walking out of the locker room at a quickening pace. Clove followed him out of the locker room, sticking her head out of the door and looking around to make sure his pack of friends wasn't in sight.

Over the next half hour, the two completed basic sparring drills. Cato discovered quickly just how much help Clove really needed. He was beginning to think she was beyond hope. The only techniques she had mastered in the past year were a set of basic punches and a block patterns using one's forearm.

After pinning her down three times, he'd had enough.

"That's three whole times! Are you even trying?" Cato complained. He didn't move to allow her to break his hold. Clove pushed him off and he backed away from her, looking at her wearily, "Come on, Clovey. We said no crying."

She turned her face away from him, rubbing her nose anxiously. He sighed, "You never cry with the others, so why with me? I'm not even that tough on you." With a sudden determined expression, she stood up and began accelerating the climbing wall.

"Have they taught you to climb that yet?" Cato called up to her, looking bewildered.

"How hard can it be?" she responded.

He ran over to her, ready to yank her down, but she'd already ascended out of his grasp. "I don't think that's a good idea!"

Clove ignored his warning and continued to scale up the wall, making her way over the top. Her foot got caught in the rope and as she fell forward, it came unraveled. She screamed. Luckily, Cato was there to break her fall.

"Why did you do that?" Cato yelled at her, giving her a nasty glare while lifting his arms to shift her into a more comfortable position. She closed her eyes, holding onto him tighter. He grimaced, "I thought we said no more crying."

Clove nodded and he dropped her to the ground. She sat up, and looked directly at him, "Next time, I'll save you."

Cato gave her a bemused expression. She placed a hand over her chest, listening to the lull of her heartbeat. She was okay. He had saved her and she was fine... "Does that mean I can go climb the wall and you'll catch me?"

He started to walk away, but she pulled him down, "No!"

"Alright, alright," he joked, grabbing her hand and lifting her up. "Next time crazy Clovey gets to save me. I can live with that."

_You scared me half to death, Clove. Don't do that again. I don't know if I'll always be able to save you. But, I'll try. I'll try as hard as I can.  
_

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 66 - July  
Clove is a third year, age 8. Cato is an intermediate, level I, age nine.  
_

Archery was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Any chance she got, Clove would give Nero the meanest look she could muster, and pray he could hear her thoughts. Archery was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

This was hopeless.

She had never asked him for anything in his stupid life! After all, it had been difficult to find any place in which their lives intersected to begin with. He was two grade levels above her and they weren't exactly close. So, when she had gathered enough nerve to ask him about archery, he'd only said she wasn't strong enough for the skill and that he wasn't going to waste his time even bothering to help her learn.

Archery was _his, _he had said to her.

She really hated him. Family was supposed to help each other out!

Clove needed a trade she could excel in, and truthfully, there were more things she refused to dabble in than things she would. Swords, despite their reputation, weren't as heavy as most untrained students believed. They weren't discreet, though, either. Axes just wouldn't do. They were agile, yes. Once you threw an axe, you had better hope you'd hit your mark, or you could be in immediate risk.

In her perspective, spears operated in the same manner as axes. Though, they were even a less likely choice because they were heavier and more difficult to maneuver. And they reminded her of Dicey. She'd lap around annex a thousand times before picking the same weapon as him!

So she stood with quiver at her side and the bow in her hands trying to master archery.

She jumped forward, firing an arrow. The arrow traveled about four feet before clanking to the ground. Clove reached for another arrow and shot it, but it hit the left wall instead of the target.

She jumped up and down, before sinking to the ground and allowing her head to fall into her arms. How many times had she done this by now? Why was she so bad at this? Clove thought back to her kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Astrid had often said she saw great potential in Clove. Mrs. Astrid was batshit crazy, because Clove had angled herself any way she could to make a shot and yet continued to fail attempt after attempt.

Archery was stupid.

She stood up, took a deep breath, and fired one last time. Her head fell. The arrow was nowhere near the target. Clove hissed at the target, before grabbing her messenger bag and storming out of the room and directly into the last person she wanted to see.

"Stop following me! I didn't tell anyone," she snapped at him. Clove understood there was no way he'd been following her, because she'd just emerged from the archery range, but she had hoped to escape unscathed.

He gave her a sort of assessing look, "Hey Clove, I-"

"You found her, Cato! Nice work."

_Why today? I hate you! I wish you would die!  
_

Smirking like a hyena that had just found its latest prey, Felix narrowed in on her. Following behind him was Nero, who was giving Clove a questioning glance, and Dicey, who looked bored of the situation already.

"How is the weakest link of Year 64 doing today?"

She began to inch away carefully, before being dragged front and center by her shirt. Felix gave her an expectant look, before pushing her roughly to the ground, "Leave me alone!" she called out, trying to stop the impending tears.

"Come on, Holloway. If you're going to be a weakling, at least be fun to watch."

Cato gave Clove a motion with his eyes, looking upwards with his eyes. _Felix likes a fighter. Get up! _If Clove understood him, she didn't oblige him. Instead she sent a dirty look into someone further away from him. Who? Dicey? For once, it wasn't even his fault. Clove was weird.

"Fight me, Holloway. I could use a good warmup." Felix challenged, glancing over her with a smirk.

"Felix, leave her alone. You know she can't fight back," Nero said exhaustively, stepping forward and in between Clove and Felix. He pushed Felix back, "Wouldn't you rather have a more worthy competitor?"

Felix looked like an infant whose most precious toy had been robbed of him. Nero tried to withhold a sigh. With a look like that, Felix was determined to have his way. "I'll fight you," Cato offered with a wolfish grin, "Watching you pummel that runt won't be any fun. She'd probably just cry."

"Oh please, no more crying. That's all my sister ever does." Dicey piped up, looking absolutely horrified at the prospect. Felix turned to his pack and gave them an irritated glare.

He then turned back to Clove, "Whatever. Hey Holloway, do you think you could stop making the rest of the Annex look bad? Grab a knife or something and get into shape. How the hell did you get to level three?"

Felix grabbed Cato, dragging him off into some classroom. "Hey, Felix, you should use a handicap. Make it a challenge!" Dicey added, following behind them. Nero gave her a look, before resolving himself to join his friends.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 68 - October  
Clove is an intermediate, level II, age ten. Cato is a level III, age eleven.  
_

Her wrist ached. It's been almost two and half months since her attack and her wrist still ached. When she thought of how much time she'd lost in training, she wanted to pull a Drey Holland. Cut out Felix's intestines and use them to suffocate Cato. She could do it, too. It would just take an ounce of determination.

Sifting through the sand, she gathered a small selection of rocks and stored them in a plastic baggie she'd used for lunch. Hoisting herself into a tree, she made it about ten feet up before deciding she wasn't willing to travel any higher.

On the ground below her, she saw the perfect victim. "Rusty yet, Clove Holloway?" she asked herself, and then concentrated on a chirping bird seeking food. Clove closed her eyes, took a breath, and shot the rock at the bird.

A direct hit! The bird fanned out its wings, calling out in pain. She rolled her eyes and threw another rock, though this time in a less sensitive area.

"How many hits will it take before you say die?" she mused.

Five hits. It took five hits for the bird to fall to the ground, its blood covering the pavement. A group of young boys crowded the bird following their exit from the Annex and grinned, "Cool!" they said. One of the boys, no older than seven or eight, promptly stomped on the bird and snapped its neck.

"No fair! It didn't even make any noise."

"We could find more! There's lots of birds behind the field in school #76!"

The boys ran off, looking absolutely ecstatic at the idea of killing small birds. She wondered if she had been that excited when she'd been their age. Admittedly, she was excited for her first kill, but that was two years away. It wasn't fair. The Annex demanded their first kill, but they were free to follow up however their pleased. Was Ellery Watson even smart enough to keep breathing for another two years? Ugh!

Clove leaned against the trees, watching as parents came inside to collect their children. Her mother had stopped doing that for her years ago, and instead had her and Magnilda meet around the corner.

As she pondered how she was going to make up for all the physical skills she'd missed out on while on medical leave, she spotted the familiar face. He looked entirely too happy to be leaving the Annex. Smirking, she wondered how good her aim truly was.

She retrieved a rock from her bag, closed her eyes, and threw it directly into the back of Cato Elroy's neck. He screeched out a few nasty words, spinning around to his attacker, and raced over to the tree.

"What was that for!" he demanded, kicking at the base of the tree a few times.

"You broke my wrist," she responded, icily. Clove contemplated throwing another rock just for the expression that followed.

An expression of disbelief lit up his face, "I wish I had broken your neck! Are you crazy?"

She turned away from him with a sniff. Looking out into the city, she saw a road of endless stores, as well as the path back towards school #76.

"I said I was sorry like a hundred months ago! What else do you need?" He crossed his arms, and stared at her with a look of contempt and irritation.

"You're not the one who has had to live with a broken wrist! Do you know how hard that makes training for me? Well, do you?" she snapped at him, emptying her bag of rocks to the ground and looking about ready to maul him.

He rolled his eyes and screamed to her, "You're kidding, right? My parents don't let me eat, my brother doesn't even talk to me anymore, and all of my friends are either entirely beyond crazy or entirely beyond repair!"

She swallowed, calmer now. "And your parents hurt you," she added, "You forgot that one too."

He look utterly vulnerable and surprised at her observation, but he didn't disagree. "I'm used to people I trust hurting me. I just didn't think you'd have to be one of them."

Clove jumped down from the tree, looking at him intently. "Paxton Watson said I had no friends."

"Yeah, so what?" He inquired tiredly, having heard the remark several times before.

"But I have you, right?" her eyes lit, rimmed with tears. Why did she always do this to him? It wasn't in his nature to forgiving and yet every damn time...

He sighed, resigned. "No more throwing rocks."

"You have a lot of rules, Cato Elroy."

Cato laughed, wrapped his arms around her, and murmured quietly, "You're going to be the death of me."

* * *

**AN** - The first scene takes place between chapters two and three. The scene that followed took place between chapters three and four, and the last one took place between eight and nine. I wanted to delve a little deeper into the Cato and Clove relationship while they're on the outs. Don't worry. They'll reunite eventually!


	15. The Messenger

Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.

- Sun Tzu

* * *

**Recap** / Year 71 started off quietly, with Cato spending time with his father, stepmother, and half-brother. Things didn't stay quiet for long, however, as everyone returned to the Annex following the holidays. Felix and Nero discussed Felix's ambitions for his three year plan, which lead him to discovering that Nero and Clove were related. Dicey and his siblings went into town to earn money and find food. When the group separated for a moment, ten year old Halle was almost kidnapped and an offer was made to buy her. Cato found a vulnerable Dicey and taunted him, before finding that he and Clove had been engaging in sexual acts. Misinterpreting the situation, Cato became infuriated and challenged Dicey to a wooden sword fight. Cato won.

* * *

"When did it start raining?" Dicey quipped. He rolled over slightly and groaned, muttering out a few expletives. He fluttered his eyes open and concentrated on Cato, whose face was still flushed from the fight, "Nope, just the dying hopes and dreams of a sad little boy."

"Don't even think of telling anyone," Cato commanded, balling his hands into fists and giving him a glare. Dicey thought the whole thing was ridiculous. Cato towered over him from above, making him dizzy.

"Tell em what? That #9 is psychopath that cries when he fights people? There's nothing to tell, C." Dicey wheezed, clutching his side and rubbing it roughly, "Fuckkk." Cato rolled his eyes. Give it up to Dicey Wilder, who always spoke even when all it did was get him into trouble. After a moment, the implications of his words sunk in and Cato's mood changed.

Cato swallowed, still angry, but somehow nervous. "It's not like that. It just... none of your damn business!" he hissed out the end after hanging onto his words for a moment.

"It reminded you of _him_. Sucks, doesn't it?"

The blonde boy backed away, looking repulsed at the suggestion. He wiped his forehead and took a breath, before determinedly denying the thought, "That's not it." He looked extremely uncomfortable. This was the longest conversation they had had in years.

If he had had the energy, Dicey would have challenged the statement further. Instead, he elaborated quietly, "I almost died of exsanguination."

"You're not even bleeding, Princess," Cato responded, irritated.

Dicey snorted, laughing heavily. This only made the pain in his side more severe as he took deeper breaths, "Fuck you, this isn't fair!" he whined, sounding less angry and more displeased.

"You've become a talented playwright, Wilder. Really."

"With how choppy your moves are, you need one," Dicey shot back.

Cato stepped closer to him, lowered himself to knee-level, and leaned over over the laying boy, "Stop talking. You're going to make it worse."

"My mouth is nowhere near my liver," he coughed out.

"Yeah, and nowhere near your head either. Stop talking." Cato lifted him up lightly. Dicey hissed and grit his teeth in response, "You worry too much. Just think of something pleasant. I don't know. Like you and Clove in the sack or something."

"You'd rather I die of an anxiety attack before succumbing to these injuries. Is that what this is, asshole?"

Cato wore an amused expression, "I'm beginning to think you have a concussion with all that nonsense. Relax."

"Why should I trust you?"

Cato snorted, "Don't have much of a choice." He let out of a yawn that he peppered with the base of his hand, "You need rest. I'll wake you up before class."

"Don't fall asleep," Dicey ordered, wearily.

The blonde blinked a few times, "I told you to stop talking," he murmured. Dicey leaned against him, closed his eyes, and tried to think of things in life that he enjoyed: Watching Nero's killer headlocks. Snacks at Clove's house. Mother's stories. Wool hats. Callan and Halle. New spears. Days where classes are let out early. Slightly burnt chicken. Trusting Cato. Could he trust Cato?

These images floated in his head. Cato blinked a few times, telling himself, don't fall asleep. Don't fall asleep. Don't fall...

Minutes later, Clove emerged into the room to announce that the session had been cancelled. She saw the boys dozing softly. From a small distance, she stood and watched them with a covert fondness. She found a pattern of bruises that had formed and suspected that whatever dispute they had had ended in a double knockout. It wasn't exactly a common outcome, but the gap in their skills was closing more and more so it wasn't impossible.

Wistfully, she wished she owned a camera. This image was the way she had engraved the duo in her mind; Resting together, fighting together, and always striving to top one another. Younger, in her imagination, of course, but close enough. Back then, Cato had been her friend and Dicey had been her enemy...

That had been years ago, though. With one last glance, she left them to their own ends.

* * *

Magnilda spooned more rice into her bowl and seasoned it lightly. Most nights, it was just her and Clove sitting around the table. On this night in particular, they were enjoying a dinner of rice and chicken and keeping mostly to themselves.

Clove took a sip of water, "Don't forget to leave some for dad. You know the drive back from military base is long and he'll be hungry when he gets back."

The smaller girl nodded, resting her head into her arms and giving off an exaggerated sigh. _I miss mom. _

"What's wrong?" Clove skimmed her mathematics textbook for the assigned problem set and began labeling her sheet of paper with her name, the date, and other pertinent information.

Magnilda lifted her head up, her brown eyes gazing into Clove's, and directly stated, "Cato doesn't like Felix."

"Nobody likes Felix."

Her sister pursed her lips, remembering the few interactions between Clove and Felix that she had had the displeasure to observe. She agreed with the assessment, "He seemed kinda worried about you, and angry too."

"Cato's just like that."

The younger girl pulled her short, dark hair into a pony tail and began eating, "Why did you pick Felix over Cato? Back then, in the long time ago, you said Cato was mean to you. He's never mean to me. He listens and when I ask for help, he always does."

Clove shrugged, "You and Cato have been close since the moment you met." She shuddered, thinking what Cato would have done if she stomped on his wrist. He probably would have wrung her neck, "It's been different for me. Cato and I never acted like normal friends."

Then again, she'd thrown rocks at him before and he'd still hugged her afterwards. Their relationship confused her profusely. Magnilda rolled her eyes and Clove was tempted to gouge them out with her dinner fork. What was it with everyone around her always rolling their eyes? With a mouth full of food, Magnilda remarked, "You guys should stop being weirdos."

"Lose the cheek."

"Even if he's not your friend, you still like him. You give him all those bags of snacks."

_Just like trophy girls, _she thought to herself.

"Cato and I aren't meant to coexist. Everything gets worse when we're together. With Dicey, when I'm mad, he shuts up, and when he's upset, I calm down. Cato and I aren't like that. We fight for the upper hand, to see who burns brighter."

Magnilda sighed, leafing through her notebook and beginning an outline from her History of District II textbook. _T__hat's why you work together, duh, _she thought to herself. It reminded her of some of the girls from class, the untrained ones. They'd argue with the boys they liked to get their attention. She was surprised the boys didn't fight back. That's what she'd do if one of them kept bugging her.

"He's different than before. When you started training, he was around #20, and then last year he jumped to #16. Felix told me he's in the top ten now." It wasn't in Clove's nature to appease people, especially her, so Magnilda gave her a strange look, "What? I'm just saying your crush has grown up a lot. He's a lot stronger than ever before and even though it's weird, I can pretend to understand. Just for you."

"My crush?" Magnilda sputtered, eyes widening like saucers, "I want you to marry Cato so he can be my brother! I don't have a crush on him, Loey'!"

Clove scoffed, "Well you can let go of that daydream, because I'd marry-"

"Yeah, yeah, you'd marry Nero before you'd marry Cato. Old joke. You're getting boring," Magnilda said, annoyed.

Clove smirked, "Would it make you feel better if I said I'd marry Felix first?"

Magnilda furrowed her eyebrows, "No, because that'd be gross. It already stinks having him as a session teacher. I'd probably run away from home if he became a part of our family."

The hazel-eyed girl hid a grin for a moment before bursting into absolute hysterics. Magnilda just rolled her eyes again, "God, you're so weird!" She kicked Clove's chair and left her to her insanity.

* * *

"You owe me for this," Nero remarked.

"Oh, whatever. Your attack took me out of training, so you owe me forever."

"That was two years ago and you deserved it." Clove considered his remark, turned her lip upward and nodded. Yep. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I've done you enough damn favors to have placated your inane debt."

"Why did you tell me about this?" Clove inquired, "And try speaking English, Nee. We're not in grammar class."

"You know Felix calls me that, right?" he asked.

She made a motion of brushing off an invisible piece of lint, "Well, I won't be using that nickname anymore. Thanks for the bad taste in mouth so early in the morning."

"Toughen up, buttercup. He's going to run you both ragged. That's why I told you."

Clove made a lazy movement, "He already does. And I already know he chose Cato, so if that's all..."

"He's not sure, though. Thinks Cato may not be quite capable, so he's sending in Denton to assess the situation. Let me finish-" Nero responded to Clove's irate expression, "He's not testing direct physical strength. He wants to see what Cato's regenerative abilities are."

She frowned, "Cato heals up pretty fast, but he knows that. You've all been taught together since the very beginning..."

"You don't understand. He's not planning to take him out for a few hours or a few days. He's headed for a maneuver like the wrist incident. Cato's not like us, Clove. He can't afford for the repairs to be made and Felix knows that. He wants to see how Cato would respond if he couldn't use a sword. If he couldn't use his hands at all..."

For a moment, Clove was quiet. She blinked her eyes, "The rat bastard isn't just testing his healing time, he's testing something else entirely... strategy, I'd bet. Goddamn strategy."

Exhaling a groan, Nero shook his head in dismay. "We are so fucked."

* * *

**AN** - Nelly is a major Clato shipper, but things aren't always as black and white as she sees them from her 4th grade perspective. I think this is the first chapter where I've had Clove and Nero in the same scene for more than a single line of dialogue.


	16. The Convergence

A clever person solves a problem. A wise person avoids it.  
- Albert Einstein

* * *

**Recap** / Cato tried to help Dicey relax, but the redhead wouldn't shut up and only exacerbated his injury. Eventually, the pair fell asleep. Clove found them and watched them longingly, before retreating to other tasks. Clove and her sister had dinner, discussing the relationship between Clove and Cato. Magnilda took Cato's side. Nero sought out Clove and warned her of Felix's plans to test Cato, but upon further examination, they discovered that things were not exactly what they seemed. And now, year 71 continues...

* * *

"Where is Clove?"

Felix Grey looked manic, angry, different from anything she'd seen before. Sure, she'd heard stories from Cato, but he was what one might call an active storyteller, so Magnilda thought he had embellished some of the details. For her age, she was tall, but she could see he was tall for his age too. About 5'7 or so. She was 4'9 on a good day.

He was looming over her threateningly, "I don't have all day, Maggie."

"Actually, my name is Magnilda, sir."

He looked annoyed, looking at her red pin with contempt, "And that's different how? You're lucky I don't play the same bullshit nickname game your sister does, or you'd be Maggot."

_And you'd be dead meat once Clove found out, _she thought.

Felix continued to stare her down. He looked different from Cato, Dicey, and Nero, with spiked black hair, near-black eyes, and a naturally olive complexion. As far as hair coloring went, Dicey was the one who came closest to him, with reddish brown hair and bright brown eyes, but he had a light complexion in contrast too.

Felix's resembled an untrained boy in her class that would always offer to help study, but where his demeanor was bright, Felix was terrifying even in his joy, and right now he didn't look too joyous to her.

"Look, little girl, you're about ten years too young for me."

She studied him, confused, "You date nineteen year olds?"

"I wouldn't call it dating," he said with a smirk.

"Then what do you-"

Felix glared at her, "I don't think your cousin would be too happy with this conversation."

That was right. He and Nero were in the same class. So that made him a first year high school kid, which placed him two years above Clove. So then why did he want Clove for the games? Weren't the girls in his cohort any good?

She looked away from him, now shy, "I really don't know where she is. She walks to the Annex alone and I walk with Arianne." If he knew the truth, she wouldn't last long, but as Clove had helpfully pointed out, neither would Cato. If Cato was going to go down, Magnilda decided, he was going to go down honorably, not in a sneak attack.

"I don't have the patience for this. Where the hell is she?" He demanded, yanking her by a strand of hair.

"Leave Nelly alone!" Arianne was at her side instantly, looking at Felix with a glare. She was stupidly brave, standing in front of Magnilda and in very close proximity to Felix's face. "It's against the rules for session teachers to contact students outside of class."

To say Felix could care less would have been an understatement. He pushed the long-haired blonde to the ground and rested his foot right above heart, "I could crush you. Don't forget that, Arianne." He sneered.

* * *

"Who knew the life of a Level IV could be so monotonous," Clove lamented from an indented corner. She peaked over to observe, and then withdrew, pushing Nero further into the corner to hide him.

The muscular teenage boy filled his bottle, wiping his forehead. Nero pulled Clove closer to himself and gave her a stern look, "You're the one who roped me into this mess, so don't complain."

"I'm not. I'm merely making an observation."

Nero gave her an amused half-smile, "You're lucky I'm good-willed."

She snorted. Her eyes widened, and Nero slapped his hand over her mouth, giving her a cautious expression. Clove hesitantly peered over the corner and found to her relief that he hadn't seem to notice a thing.

"Moron," she scoffed. Nero grinned back at her, and Clove dragged him behind her as Denton walked away, his bag slung over his shoulder.

Nero watched as more students filled the hallway, making it more difficult to make out the teen boy, "This is ridiculous."

"What exactly did that hoodlum tell Denton, anyway?"

The blue-eyed boys lips contorted into a contemplative expression as Clove pushed another student out of her way. The girl cussed back at them, but the pair continued on their path, "I wasn't actually there for that part. He said he was going to talk to him at the session instructor gathering. They work the same age group."

Clove frowned, effectively stopping in place. A boy bumped into her and her eyes turned to slits. He scrunched up his face and sauntered off, "I'm pretty sure Denton doesn't teach Magnilda."

"Maybe he teaches another class."

"I require her to go to all training sessions, voluntary or mandatory. He's not-" she looked up and to the left, blinking, and trying to recall of all of Magnilda's stories. "There's Fix, and then Anderson, Dyers, and... We gotta go. Now."

Nero looked concerned, "What?"

"It's not Denton. It's Marley."

* * *

If he had had enough time to ponder how uncomfortable the whole situation was, Dicey might have had the nerve to deny Clove's request. A small part of him was grateful, though.

He wasn't planning on letting her get away with the dismissive remarks anymore. She cared about Cato, maybe even missed him as much as he did. Dicey had always suspected, but Clove wasn't a feelings person. Well, at least not any of the uplifting variety. That was okay with him most of the time, because his sister was emotionally-driven enough for the entire district, but he was just waiting for the whole situation to collapse.

Shadowing Cato wasn't hard. In fact, this was the first time in a long stretch that he was glad they were in the same classes. Not only in school, but in the Annex as well. Nero was in class A, Felix in B, and he and Cato had been placed in class C. He envied Nero most. His class had the most girls.

When it came to shadowing the blonde, privates and voluntary sessions tripped Dicey up most. He was not a regular participant in the swordsmanship group sessions so it would have certainly raised a few flags if he started attending now. In fact, the only voluntary sessions he did participate in were strategy (at Nero's request) and ranged weaponry (also with Nero).

Swords were fine and all, but every motion Cato made just reminded him of the raunchy jokes the girls in class made. That was Cato's sort of humor, dirty and casual. He, on the other hand, preferred embarrassing others with a little light teasing and lots of direct, but mostly harmless humor. Clove hated him for it.

Dicey wouldn't say Cato scared him, but he wanted a good one mile radius between the two when he was armed with a sword. His movements were pointed and crystalline. He was talented, but physical combat skills only meant so much without a sharp mind to defend them.

As soon as this whole thing was over, Dicey thought, he was going to drag Cato to strategy group sessions even if it cost him a few teeth.

Dicey engrossed himself in a publication on the newest weapons manufactured in Two North. The spears were pristine, amazing. He wanted one. Hell, he wanted several, but he knew he'd never see something like that if he didn't make it to the Capitol. The Annex's weapons were of an okay quality, but it had been years since they'd gotten higher quality weapons. It had been years, eight exactly, since they had won a hunger games.

District Two could only hope that this year's game would break the drought.

"You are drooling."

Dicey looked up from the magazine with a knowing expression, "And you would be too if this was a catalog on swords." He looked at his watch, surprised that the session was over minutes earlier than he'd expected.

* * *

"Run faster!"

Nero willed himself to pick up the pace, but damn was Clove fast. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the two of them were put in a hunger games. She'd probably avert every god damn arrow he shot at her! At least the crowds had thinned.

As they sped on, the two ran past Magnilda who was trying to get their attention.

"Deal with it later, Nelly!" he called back to the blur. Clove hadn't slowed for even a second.

Why did the Annex have to be so big? This was a disaster. They wouldn't find Marley in time and truthfully, they didn't even know where to start.

"What do-" she took in a shot of air, "you know about Marl-ee?"

He racked his brains for facts, "He's tall, sort of lanky."

Nero could hear the irritation in her tone, "What are his strengths?"

That was the surprising thing. Marley wasn't nearly as strong as Denton. "He wields axes, I think." He took a breath, "If he's- If he's a teacher, he's gotta be smart." He took another breath, "Must be good at tactical games and dedicated enough to implement a lesson plan."

"Not smart enough to avoid," she began with a sharp intake of air, "falling for Fix's plan."

"Almost there!" Nero called out, and picked up a quicker pace, dragging a surprised Clove by the hand.

* * *

The three scenes came together at once.

Clove and Nero ran out of the left fork of a set of hallways that narrowed into a singular hallway. Dicey was sitting on the tile and Cato was peering over his shoulder, as the two poured over some senseless catalog. Cato yawned, rubbing his nose. Marley, a tall brunette, appeared from the other end of the hallway with a smirk on his face. He looked ready to devour Cato for breakfast, but as Cato wasn't facing him, he didn't exactly know.

Out of the right fork of the hallway, Felix appeared, looking considerably less smarmy than he normally did.

What happened next surprised them all. In only seconds, all the attention was focused on him as a well-toned dirty blonde burst out from behind him, throwing him to the ground, and delivering several punches to his stomach. It happened so quickly and without precedent that all anyone could do was stare.

Marley was the first to break the silence.

"What happened to you, #1?" Marley asked, laughing and pointing at the flailing boy with a grin.

While he was momentarily distracted, Dicey took the opportunity to stand up and pull Cato as far away from the cackling brunette as he could. Cato brushed him off, but didn't go any further to state his displeasure. Nero and Clove were oblivious to the duo now immediately behind them, and watched the scene with a great deal of satisfaction, sharing nearly identical smirks.

Felix was swearing like a sailor at the dirty blonde boy, who had pinned him down. Finally, the boy spoke, "You ever threaten my niece again and I will not hesitate to chop your dick off. Got that, Grey?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Gunner?" Felix spit out, harshly.

"Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."

"Are you crazy?" Felix demanded.

"Arianne Gunner is my niece, jackass."

Clove's smirk widened by a long shot. So her sister's closest friend was the niece of the #2 in the boys' cohort. The pleasure she got out of thinking of the dozens of ways she could use that to her advantage made her want to purr.

"You should teach her not to disrespect her elders, then. Rotten little brat thinks she has the right to challenge combatants several years her senior."

"Sounds like someone I know," Nero whispered, teasingly, nudging Clove with his shoulder.

Cato whispered to Dicey, "Is Kyler serious?" His question was answered a second later, when the dirty blonde punched Felix one more time, before beginning a tirade.

"Arianne is eight years old. She probably thinks she owns the whole damn annex. You too much of pussy to fight within your own cohort? Fine, I don't give a fuck, but you mess with niece one more time and I will tear you limb by limb."

Felix wormed his way out of Kyler's hold, aiming for his throat. The blonde pinned him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, "Should have given you a warning. I don't play fair when family is involved." His tone became lighter, casual, "Then again, I've been itching for the chance to kick your ass."

Marley snorted in amusement and closed in on Kyler and Felix, "And here I thought I wasn't getting any entertainment today."

Felix glared up at him, while Kyler eyed him with suspicion, pinning Felix down again as he attempted to wiggle his way out of the hold. "Stay still, asshole. You're lucky I haven't ripped off your arm yet."

Marley gave Felix a knowing expression, "I'd chalked up all the complaints from my students to you being generally unlikeable, but going after a little girl is weak, man. I'm out. Try to stay out of trouble, Felix." He headed down the left hallway, leaving the group behind.

"This is fucking unbelie-"

Kyler scoffed and delivered one last punch to his jaw. The black-haired boy's head slumped back to ground, effectively knocked out. The dirty blonde kicked Felix in the side before following the same hallway that Marley had left from.

"Wish I could say 'we did it,' but Gunner being here was extremely good timing." Clove said, pure amusement at Felix's fate underlining her words.

"Did what?" Cato asked, confusion evident in his face. He stifled a yawn, the bags under his eyes disconcerting. Clove and Nero turned towards him and Dicey just shook his head, looking a bit out of sorts himself.

"What happened to Denton?" he inquired.

Nero laughed, sounding relieved, "Felix played us. Might be an ass, but we shouldn't have doubted his strategic skills."

"So mission accomplished?" Dicey asked, unsure.

"For now," Clove agreed. Wiping her sweaty forehead and letting out a sigh.

Cato inched forward, bothered that no one had answered his question yet. Right as he opened his mouth to speak, a yawn came from his mouth. His eyes shut suddenly and he fell forward. "Cato!" Clove screamed out, launching herself forward to catch him. The two fell onto the floor hard, but Clove took most of the impact.

"Clo, are you okay!" Dicey joined her and Cato on the floor. He lifted Cato off of her and onto himself. Watching the unconscious blonde with concerned eyes.

Clove was biting on her cheek to hide her pain and Nero gently picked her up, carrying her carefully. "Did you break anything?"

She shook her head, "My back just hurts a lot."

Nero nodded and looked at the scared redhead with what he hoped was a comforting expression, "Dicey, let's head to the lounge."

"They'll be okay, right?" his brown eyes were now marred with stressful red lines. He slung Cato over his shoulder and took a minute to lift him from the ground.

The two boys made the trek to the lounge, their passengers in tow. A few times they received questioning glances from students around their age, but ignored them in lieu of the circumstances. As soon as they arrived in the empty lounge, Nero remembered he'd left Felix back in the hallway. Fighting with himself over whether or not to go back for him, he decided that this was what Felix deserved for denying his request. In the future, their friendship was going to take a much more egalitarian turn or it wasn't going to continue at all.

* * *

**AN** - I split this chapter in half, so chapter seventeen will be up later today.


	17. The Scrawl

**AN** - This is the second portion of my two chapter update. Make sure to read chapter sixteen first before continuing onto this one!

* * *

Well done is better than well said.  
-Benjamin Franklin

* * *

At her behest, Dicey and Nero had gone off to the rest of their mandatory courses for the day. Clove had been placed on 'Cato watch' to ensure nothing too drastic would occur while they were gone. Nero had insisted several times over that they take him to the medical annex, but Dicey had vehemently opposed the motion, saying Cato wouldn't like it. So instead, they'd placed him on the long couch in the lounge and were going to let him wake before choosing their next course of action.

Clove wasn't too sure if that was the best route.

Exhaling, she curled up in the arm chair and closed her eyes. How long she was out, she wasn't sure, but when she heard a small clank, she bolted up and noticed Cato awkwardly attempting to exit the room.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, apprehensively.

"It's five." He pointed to the clock hanging on the wall, "I've got class and the last one I remember attending ended at ten this morning."

She stared at him, "Not a chance!"

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but I just slept through four of my classes. I can't afford to sleep through any more."

Clove ran forward and dragged a very unwilling Cato back to the couch, pushing him roughly onto the cushion. "For the record, you didn't sleep through anything. You were unconscious, and I want to know how the hell that happened. Explain." He looked away, as he always did when he was trying to avoid the Clove inquisition. She tapped her foot impatiently, "Now!"

He scoffed, "It's really not a big deal."

"I'll be the decider of that."

Cato rolled his eyes.

"You owe me," she piqued.

"Haven't I always?" he muttered to himself. He grabbed a pillow and held it against himself protectively.

"Start talking."

Why did he have to share this with Clove of all people? She was going to go ballistic! Cato hesitated, before muffling his words into the pillow. "Mom put me on a new sleeping regimen. I'm only allowed to sleep six hours every 72 hour cycle." Of course to his misfortune, Clove seemingly understood every word.

Her expression changed from one of irritation to contemplation and then understanding, "It'll be useful in the arena."

Cato had a difficult time hiding his disappointment. _What were you expecting? _he chastised himself, _You're not friends anymore. _

"Can I go now?" he asked, defensively.

She eyed him warily, "Interrupting a class would be improper annex etiquette, so unless you want your ear talked off, I don't suggest it."

His gaze flickered to the bruises on her stomach, "How'd you get those?"

She tried to hide a grimace, but he caught it. "You came crashing down on me."

Cato furrowed his brows in confusion, looking at her as if she was dense. "Why the hell didn't you move out of the way?"

"That would have been counter-productive to catching you," she gave him a classic Clove glance that mocked him, looking at him as if he should have already known this.

"And why would you want to catch me?" he inquired, distrust clear in his tone.

"Because you really can't afford any more hits to the head."

"You're a bitch, Clove." Cato responded, secretly amused at the way she managed to sneak her way out of answering things honestly. She only beamed in response to his non-insult.

She sat onto the armchair parallel to the couch he was resting on. "I'm not falling back asleep, so don't even think of ditching me."

"Fine, but then you better answer my question."

"About what?"

He dragged her chair closer to the couch and grinned, "What mess did I apparently miss out on while you, Nero, and Dice were causing trouble?"

"Oh, that. It's uh- not important."

"Come on, Clove. I won't tell anyone your dumb secret."

She looked down, avoiding him, and suddenly appeared incredibly self-conscious. He figured nothing could be more embarrassing than the fact that she and Dice were hooking up, but something told him Nero would never willingly allow himself to gather awareness of such a situation, so it couldn't be that.

He watched her, suddenly worried, and before he had time to wonder what could be wrong, she spoke up.

"Felix has this three year plan. After the whole Ellery Watson situation, he came to my room in the medical annex and told me he wanted to set up this whole plan so that District Two could win three hunger games in a row. After Cashmere and Gloss Morgan won the games and the District One male tribute almost won the 68th, he started thinking maybe the games were set up so that a single district couldn't win three years in a row."

The more that Cato thought about, the more he wondered if that could be a possibility, but why the Capitol would do that? The Capitol wanted only the best tributes to win and if a district continuously offered up their very best, then theoretically, why couldn't they win three years in a row?

"None of us have exactly been happy about the state of District Two's record over the last ten years, but Felix was taking it personally. He wanted to reclaim District Two's honor by doing the impossible. So he began to formulate a plan in which he would win the 74th games and then would mentor two other students to become volunteers in the subsequent years after his victory. He picked me for the quarter quell and then was trying to decide between you, Nero, and Dicey for the 76th games."

Cato frowned, "Dicey and Nero wouldn't be eligible for the 76th games, though. Their first reaping was in 69."

"I realized that a little too late. See, he's had his eye on you from the get-go, but he wasn't 100% sure. So when he saw how much you'd climbed in the rankings, he wanted to see if you could overcome your blind spots."

"What blind spots?" Cato asked, getting peeved and unhinged very quickly.

Clove contemplated how to phrase her next words, "He wanted to see how you'd fare in an arena without swords."

Cato scoffed, "I'd use my hands."

Clove nodded, "And he figured as much on his own, so he decided to see what would happen if you couldn't use your hands at all. To disable you for weeks, maybe even months." And now Cato looked about lethal. Clove wasn't sure how comfortable she was being this close to him.

"Nero told him no. Several times over, actually. Felix wouldn't listen. So we decided to interfere long enough to bring him down."

"And how did you plan on doing that?" Cato's face lost some of its heat, and he seemed to be getting a grip on himself.

Clove almost laughed, "We split up. Nero and I trailed Denton and Dicey was supposed to be keeping a watch on you just in case we lost him. Except that Felix tricked us. He decided to have Marley go forward with your so-called test instead. Nero and I realized that just in the neck of time, but unfortunately Marley showed up not a minute too late."

"But then Kyler came around. Pretty good timing if you ask me." Cato finished.

"Yeah," she agreed, "Really good timing."

"And you guys were willing to do this all for me?"

"It's not like how you make it sound," she said, defensively.

"I am the world's biggest idiot."

Clove didn't make any motion to disagree. The door opened and Dicey walked in. When he saw that Cato was awake, he grinned at the blonde. "Good, you're up." He sat next to Cato, who only looked at him with a mild expression.

"Is what she said true?"

Dicey gave him a puzzled expression, "Depends, did she say I was year 63's most eligible bachelor? Because of course that's true."

"I'd say the only bigger moron than you is me."

"Can't argue with that," Dicey said with a teasing grin. His expression then became serious, "Wait, what did you say?" he asked Clove.

She shrugged, "Nothing, just the whole Felix situation."

"Oh yeah, I swear that fucker comes up with new ways to outdo himself every day."

Cato looked to Clove, then back at Dicey. He gave them both what he hoped was an appreciative expression, but mostly ended up looking like a grimace. "I'm going home. See you around."

* * *

A few days later, Cato entered the boys locker room. He peeled off his light winter jacket, setting it on the bench, and reached blindly into his locker for a spare set of training attire.

To his surprise, his hand instead gripped a familiar jar. Opening the locker more, he found the white jar had a note attached. In Dicey's familiar scrawl were the words, 'Thanks. I owe you one.'

Cato rolled his eyes, not looking forward to setting the record straight with the boy.

"How were classes?" Nero asked, as he entered the locker room and set his bag down beside him.

"Miserable," Cato replied, looking at the brunette. He pushed the white jar into the back of his locker and snatched his training clothing, "That old bat Milligan won't stop heckling me."

Nero looked surprised, "Really? She always seemed okay to me."

"She said she was disappointed with my latest work and that she expects better of me. Like it's any business of hers how I do my work, as long as I do it."

Nero suppressed a knowing look, "It's not like she was wrong, though. If you've been trying to keep your academic repertoire under wraps, you've failed pretty miserably."

"What the hell does that mean?" Cato asked him.

Nero shook his head, "It means you're not fooling anyone by playing stupid, so why bother?"

"I wasn't 'playing stupid,' I just have better things to do than worry about some lame essay on religion. The old world was stupid. Do you know how many wars they had over the same damn God? If God existed, we wouldn't be living like this."

"What the hell does that mean?" Nero demanded, stepping forward.

"Nothing, never mind. Just nonsense. Living without sleep has twisted my mind."

"You better hope so. District Two is a lot damn better than the slummy districts out east, Cato."

"I know. I've just spent too much time in my own head. Going without sleep sucks, okay? At night, there isn't training or anything else to fill your mind. It's just one stray thought after another and sometimes it gets pretty weird."

* * *

_I kept it all these years.  
__  
_Clove tore the adhered note off of the old notebook and opened it. On the first page were several basic math problems, with the page dated in the corner August 25th, 66. On the inside of the cover was a scrap of white paper taped to the notebook: Good luck today.

It was her handwriting. Less precise and tidy, but still hers. She'd meant to give him this note several years ago, but had decided against it at the last moment. He'd caught her.

And he'd kept it.

Five years later and he'd kept a scrap paper that she written hastily. She had to give it up to Cato to derive more significance from her actions than she did, but... he'd kept the notebook even years after they'd stopped being friends and something told her it wasn't for the math problems he'd done in 4th grade.

Was this supposed to be a puzzle for her to solve?  
Was this his backhanded way of telling her he cared about her too?

Dicey sat with her in the grass immediately outside the Annex, "I don't know what it means." he admitted.

"Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all. I'm probably reading too much into it."

"Cato doesn't do something for nothing. There's a reason why he wanted you to have the notebook, but what that is, I can't say."

Clove watched the orange sunset, trying to decide what to do next.

Dicey broke the minute of silence, "I'd say let him come to you. That's what I'm doing." At her bewildered expression, he elaborated, "I opened up my locker yesterday to find a jar of creme. It works to fade scars. At first, I wondered if it was some sort of taunt, but then I remembered something-" he didn't dare tell her what, "And I realized it had to have been Cato. I think it's his version of an apology."

"He's not the type to apologize. Maybe you're the one reading into it too much."

"It's about as close as he is going to get. Cato tends to avoid things that make him feel uncomfortable, so he's not going to risk coming up to us directly and receiving a negative reaction in return: tears, anger, or ambivalence."

Clove took in all of Dicey's ideas and nodded, "But how am I going to make him come to me?"

"Force him into a corner."

* * *

_When I said no matter what, I meant it. Did you?_

Cato stared at the note. He didn't have to think twice to know his answer. It had been much easier when he wasn't talking to either one of them, but within 48 hours, he was locked into place without a direct path forward. The icy was getting slippery.

Since he'd made it into the top ten, his mother had made a compromise with his dietary routine. Still, the trail mix continued to arrive each week. Despite the lack of conversation or engagement, Clove was sending him a message that she at least cared about his well-being a little.

The two of them were not making it easy on him. In the years past, he'd developed a mantra that one must go alone to go at all. Cato developed a life in which the only person he counted on was himself, but then again without Clove, Dicey, and Nero, where would he be right now?

Probably on medical leave, and fewer things were worse than that. They weren't kids anymore. Being on medical leave as a potential tribute knocked one down several pegs in the rankings, and he didn't even want to think what his mother would have done when she found out.

Closing the school locker and shutting the lock, he pulled the hood over his head and waited for Dicey to come out of the classroom. He swallowed his pride, shut his eyes, and called out "Wilder, wait!"

Dicey, whose hands were stuffed in his jacket pockets, looked up. He came over to him and stood patiently, anticipating his words with a smugness that bugged him, "What's up, Cato?"

"You don't owe me anything. That wasn't the point. I just-" He was bad at this. Very, very bad at this. He could still run, right? or punch him! He could knock him out and threaten one of his little sidekicks if even thought about telling anyone.

The auburn-haired boy smiled, "I know." Cato studied him warily and he continued, "If it makes you feel any better, Cato, I forgive you."

"I didn't ask for your forgiveness," he said said through clenched teeth.

"But that was your intent, wasn't it? As dumb as it is, I still think of you like a brother. And sometimes I think you feel the same about me at least a little bit."

Cato nodded, looking embarrassed at the intimacy of the conversation. Quietly, he added, "I lost two brothers in one day. Worst day of my life."

"You didn't lose me, Cato. I'm right here. In every one of your damn classes," Dicey chirped up. The unspoken _and I always was there _lingering in open air.

"So you'd be willing to become my friend again even though I almost made you my second kill?" Cato asked, doubtfully.

Dicey didn't like the self-loathing stamped across his face. It had to go. "As if you could have killed me, Elroy. I still outrank you by two points."

Cato smirked at him, "Yeah, how do you manage that, small fry?"

"This much pure talent should be illegal," the redhead said, flexing his arms and grinning from ear to ear.

The blonde laughed, "You wish, Dice." He slung an arm around him and grinned, "Maybe we should get Kyler something for his troubles."

* * *

When Clove saw the two of them coming around together, she blinked, surprised. They were smiling. The both of them. And their smiles made her want to smile, but she didn't. She wouldn't. "Oh goodie, two baboons for the price of one."

"Playing nice, I see." Cato said lightly. His discomfort bare for all to see.

"Depends on your intentions, blondie."

He looked at her with a resigned, but amused expression, "What if I was here to apologize and beg you to take me back?" Cato extended his arms in an ironic manner as if being hung on the cross.

She snorted, watching him carefully, "Well, I suppose since you were so sincere."

"Oh good, then!" Dicey said, sitting in between the two. He pulled them into himself, and grinned, "Group hug!"

"Dicey, let go!"

"Cut it out, Dice!"

"Nope, not a chance. I'm plenty comfortable just like this," he said with a smile that stretched so wide it must have hurt.


	18. The Lense

Short people got no reason to live  
They got little hands  
Little eyes  
They walk around  
Tellin' great big lies.  
-Randy Newman, "Short People"

* * *

**Recap** / Felix chose Cato as his final player for the three year plan, but he wanted to ensure that Cato was a good fit, so he set up an impromptu test of his skills. Clove, Nero, and Dicey decided to interfere and split up to cover all their bases. As the events came to a convergence, Felix was attacked by Kyler Gunner, who wasn't too pleased that Felix had attacked his eight year old niece. Off the hook, the trio relished in their short-lived victory before Cato passed out in the middle of the hallway. When he woke up, he tried to escape Clove's grasp, but found it more difficult than he'd thought. In order to mark his gratitude, he gave both Dicey and Clove a gift. Displeased at their reactions, he found the two to set the record straight and inevitably ended up making amends with them.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 72_

Cato was the first friend she'd ever had.

For a while, he was the _only_ friend she'd ever had. It was a strange union. Most of the time, the two could barely tolerate the other, and the rest of the time they vacillated between being at each other's throats and being uncomfortably sentimental. In the end, her friendships could be summed up as so: Is he one of Cato's closest friends? Yes? Then, he's probably going to be a regular character in your day to day routine, so **get comfortable.**

_Has it really been eight years since I met Cato?_

"Congratulations on making it to the big one four. Here's hoping you make it to fifteen, Clovey."

"With how many times you've tried to kill her, I'm surprised she made it to twelve." The accusatory tone behind the statement only made him laugh, and he ruffled the dark-haired girl's hair with a smile reserved just for her.

"Always a stab directly into the heart. I'm onto you, Nelle Holloway."

"We aim to please." She pointed towards Clove, who was on the other side of Cato, and then back at herself. The two of them looked deceptively closer in age than they actually were.

"And yet that person is never me," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"You are the only person I know willing to flirt with a fifth grader," Clove finally spoke up.

Cato looked back to Clove. Magnilda grinned, cheekily. "Clove got a good set this year. I'd watch your back. Then again, she could tear you apart with even the rustiest, old knife."

Clove's small smile disappeared before he was able to commit it to memory, but he'd seen it. She had definitely smiled. Clove really did live and breathe for her kid sister. Dicey was the same with his own brood, too. Cato was different from the two of them in that regard. He made it a rule not to live for anyone but himself.

"What do you do? Go home and just brainwash her every night?" Dicey asked conspiratorially, "Callan and Halle haven't been that nice to me in years."

"Maybe it's because you're annoying."  
"Because they have taste."

Dicey threw a grape at Clove's forehead. "I should have had the foresight to realize that the two of you together would cause me nothing but grief."

"And yet you always come back for more, short stack."  
"You make it too easy."

Clove then added to her previous statement, with a huff, "There is nothing wrong with being short, Elroy."

"The view's better from up here. You can see the whole world." Cato remarked, and pretended to think for a moment, "What are you, Dice? Right about 5'5? But, hey at least you're taller than Clove. Then again... In a few day's time, Nelle will be too."

"I'll be tall just like you," Magnilda agreed, snatching the bag of grapes from Dicey and handing a vine to Cato.

He gave her a teasing grin, "I don't know, kid. What happens if you inherit the Clove gene? You would shrink so small, I'd never see you again."

Dicey and Clove glared at the them. Dicey swatted Magnilda with his notebook, "Don't encourage him." She stuck her tongue out at him, "I'm 5'6. We can't all be 5'9, C."

"Don't throw a hissy fit, Princess. Height doesn't mean _that_ much. It just makes you funnier to look at."

"I'd rather be mocked for how I look than what I say."

Clove shook her head. They were not going to have this debate with her sister in the middle of them as collateral, "Okay girls, cat fight over. You can fight over your hair another day."

"Sorry, Clo."  
"You're right."

Magnilda giggled. Cato looked down at her, "You keep laughing, trouble maker, and you might find yourself in the same predicament Clove did when she was your age."

"Not if you want to keep your head attached," Clove warned.

Cato laughed, "Lighten up, Clovey."

"Fine, but it's your mistake. Dad got her a kama set for her birthday last year, and she's been infatuated ever since. I wouldn't risk it."

"Now, this I've gotta see!"  
"How could you not tell me about this?" Cato demanded, a wild look of excitement in his eyes. He could just imagine the doe-eyed brunette putting on air of innocence, and then getting to work.

Clove smirked at the boys, "And she's only two years away from her exam to potential tribute. Think of the possibilities."

Magnilda drank up all the attention, flushing with excitement, "I could make em cry, you know. Loey' said it's more fun to drive them crazy, because then they're totally surprised when you get your first hit."

"I don't doubt for a second you'd give us a good show, kid."

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 70 - Clove is twelve. Warning, this is gory.  
_

"It'll be great, Clo," Dicey remarked. She slipped her fingers into his, and the boy hesitated long enough for her to hastily withdraw them. He continued, ignoring her disdainful expression, "They'll read off the name, their crime, and age. After that, your information will be announced and you'll be expected to begin. Try to keep yourself calm. If you feel yourself tripping up, finish your work quickly. It'll-it'll be okay. "

She glared at him, "I'm not like you. I won't cry over a traitor." On the surface, it was a defensive remark. Underneath, it was a low blow. This wasn't time to worry about that, though.

Dicey resisted the temptation to punch her in the face. No, that wouldn't serve him well and he'd promised himself he'd try to become more patient with Clove. Instead, he took a breath, "I won't be there. I've got to prepare for my exam, but if you want to come find me afterwards... I'll be in the close-combat room."

Clove's glare had long disappeared, replaced by a look of anticipation, "My first kill. I've been waiting for this moment my whole life."

He sighed, and wove his fingers into hers for just a moment. His breath was heavy and his posture sloppy and it made her hesitate, "Straighten up, Dicey," she commanded.

"Be brave, Clo. Please."

Dicey saw a ghost of smile on her face, "You too." He pulled her into a hug and she squeezed him tightly, freeing herself of her anxieties for just a minute. He waved off to her and she scurried off, excitedly.

When she entered the examination room, Clove noticed a group of older students running around with clipboards, trying to get the students organized. A black-haired girl a few years older than her came over to her, "Name and birthday."

"Clove Holloway. February 4th, 58."

The girl skimmed through the pages of her clipboard, and made a mark on one of the pages, "Alright, Holloway. Looks like you're right behind Watson."

_I hope the blade of her sickle is dull. Dull as she is. _

"Make sure to stand still during the procession of other students' exams. Exams are conducted in order of date of birth, so if the eldest student is a girl, she'll begin. If the next oldest is a boy, he'll follow. Do not mix with the boy's line and most importantly do not talk. Talking can result in immediate dismissal and if your conversation is more important to you than the Annex, then you don't belong here anyways." The last sentence deviated from the script and the girl was giving her a vaguely threatening expression.

Clove nodded her understanding, and the girl left to assist other students. When she got in line, Paxton turned to her with a smirk, before returning to her proper position.

There were 102 students in the year 64 cohort. The oldest, Rocco Michie, began the exams by refusing to participate, citing that he didn't think it was 'right.' The other students growled, but said nothing. Most of them were thinking along the same lines, though; How dare he set such a preposterous tone for their cohort!

He got a mouthful from both instructors and left with about a hundred eyes glaring into the back of his head.

By the time they'd gotten through the students born in July and August, Clove noticed a reoccurring pattern. Many of the students tended to hesitate. They would make a half-assed first hit that would leave the subject in agonizing pain, but not quite at death's door. Then, some of them would stop for a moment or two, looking like a dear in the headlights. This of course, was usually followed by one of the instructors egging them on.

Clove wanted to pull her hair out. What the fuck did they really expect? If you can't kill a single person, how the hell did you expect to kill 23? _Morons. _

It took a little more than an hour to get through all of the students born in September, who, to their credit, had a much better disposition than their predecessors. One of the boys put on an especially good display. He'd cut his examination subject, a 44-year-old man convicted of multiple accounts of breaking and entering a business, into several slices. He'd began near the man's feet and worked his way up.

When his subject finally passed on several minutes later, he looked into Clove's admiring eyes with a smirk. She grazed her teeth against her lips. Damn...

Three girls in the October batch were dismissed one after the other. The first didn't have good enough technique. The second girl was reduced to tears when her subject began to mock her. The last one tripped over her own feet and twisted her ankle.

A pair of twins made it into a contest of sorts. The girl stepped forward and picked a set of twin sais, before looking back to her brother with a cocky grin. The peacekeeper read off the name of her convict, who'd been found guilty of attempted poisoning. That peaked Clove's attention. She wondered who'd he had tried to poison.

"Victoree Cogdall, born December 21st, 57. Reaping eligible."

"You may begin."

She ran forward, hooked left, and before the man knew it, she'd stricken him in the back. He let out a blood curdling scream, and she continued her efforts. Clove wished Victoree would have turned him around, so they could have seen what she was doing. The man continued to let out more screeches as she perfected her work.

"I tried to be kind!" he yelled out to no one in particular.

Victoree frowned and pushed the subject to the ground. He landed on his stomach, heaving. Blood gushed out of the wounds on his back. "That doesn't sound like much fun," she said to him, pouting. The two lines inched forward to read what she'd inscribed on his back. It was marred with blood and difficult to decipher, but Clove was pretty sure it said:

'Dare to play with fire?'

The sandy haired girl returned the twin sais to the bloody weapons rack, and grinned at her brother. Clove suspected they were the only ones smiling, though she didn't look behind to confirm her suspicions. The second instructor complimented Victoree and sent her to the collective of other students who had passed so far. About twelve students had been dismissed so far, though there were more to go.

The younger twin stepped forward and grabbed a selection of daggers. One of them had loose skin still hanging off the blade, which he flicked away. His examination subject was a twenty-three year old man who'd been convicted of intimacy with a minor under the age of twelve.

"Xerxes Cogdall, born December 21st, 57. Reaping eligible."

The brown-haired boy paused for a second, and must have said something, because his subject blanched. He threw a dagger into the man's lower region, which clouded his only attire, a set of white boxers, with blood. Xerxes followed up with shooting one into his stomach, and another near his collarbone. He then descended upon the man, withdrew the dagger that was in his stomach, and began to create an image on the man's chest.

The man released several agonizing screams, and even spit blood onto the brunet's face. Blood droplets fell down the tips of Xerxes's hair. He grinned at the man's screeches, continuing his etchings. Finally, he wrote a message in response to his sister's.

His image was of a blazing sun. In the center, it read, 'And yet, I burn brighter.'

The first instructor allowed him to join the other students, and he sat next to Victoree with a cocky smirk. She looked enthralled, ready to jump his bones. The subtext made Clove a little uneasy, but she pushed the thought away as the December-born students concluded and they commenced with January.

The barrack of weapons was impressive, but it didn't mean much to her.

What had the boys used? _Strange things_, she recalled. A bola for Dicey. She wanted to spit at him for that. That was too quick a death. It wouldn't do at all. Nero had used a scythe. She'd have paid money good fare to have seen him wield such a weapon. Maybe, he'd realized how stupid archery was. Felix had used a war hammer, which Clove had to admit must have taken a lot of strength. His plan, maybe it'd be worth it. Not with Cato, though. He'd abandoned her after making a promise to be friends for better or worse. They needed someone who wouldn't shake off a commitment and so far Cato wasn't faring too well in that regard.

There were only three students born in January. Two boys and a girl.

One of the boys was dismissed for injuring himself in the process of trying to kill his subject. There were no lack of of examination subjects, and it made Clove curious as to what they did with the spares. Were they executed quickly, or were their deaths even more drawn out? She had a coward's heart. In the very depths of her being, she knew that she'd want to die quickly, quietly.

Paxton was beckoned up and Clove watched the honey-haired girl try to decide between the weapons available to her. She looked so serious, intent, as if unsure which to use. And yet, she still chose as Clove predicted she would. A sharpened sickle that hadn't been used by any of the sixty or so students that tested before her.

She must have been the luckiest person alive, too, because her subject was a young girl. The peacekeeper read off that she was eleven and had poached a wildcat on private property. Clove wasn't too sure if she bought that explanation.

"Paxton Watson, born February 2nd, 58. Reaping eligible."

"You may begin."

The young girl cowered as Paxton leaped forward. The honey-haired girl was quickly covered in her victim's blood, her sickle digging deeply into her examination subject's heart. It was gruesome. Paxton then stood over the girl, watching her. The girl's eyes fluttered and Paxton pulled the sickle's blade deeper into the girl's heart until her death was announced. More blood spurted out, and Paxton wiped the blood off of her face.

The first instructor called that Paxton had passed, but she continued to stare at the girl. She removed herself a moment later, but looked confused, her eyes never leaving the girl until she was laid onto the gurney and taken away. Clove didn't like the look in her eyes. She wasn't exactly fond of Paxton, but she'd expected... Well, she wasn't sure what exactly, but she'd definitely expected more from her.

Clove tried to hide her surprise when the peacekeepers brought up the next examination subject. She'd recognized him. Hell, she figured that pretty much everyone did. She picked up a pack of throwing knives, most covered in a layer of crusted blood, which made the blades difficult to clean, but she resigned herself to complete her task without complaints.

"Gideon Alonzo, age 32: Convicted of attempting to cross district boundaries."

The bald man stood defiant. His blue eyes burning, and she wondered to herself, "Clove Holloway, born February 4th, 58. Reaping eligible."

The second instructor, always Clove's favorite, added. "You may begin."

She walked up to the man slowly. Gideon Alonzo looked at her with great despair, "The things they do to you darlings." Clove said nothing, only closing in on him even more. She averted her eyes to the ground, let out a heavy breath, and steadied herself. This was it.

"Yes, it is unfair." she whispered, lowly, still not looking at him.

The first instructor went to make a movement, but the second grabbed his arm, and shook her head.

"Had you'd been free..."

Clove swallowed and looked up at the man, "I would have created beautiful things."

Gideon smiled at her, sadly, "Had you been mine, I would have never let this happen to you." He stepped closer to her and pulled her forward. Clove allowed this movement, and he brushed her hand with tips of his fingers. She made no movement to stop his gesture, and he whispered, "What will they do to you if you fail?"

"A terrible unkindness."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be," she whispered, and unraveled herself from his grasp. The tone shifted and the class watched as she made her first move. She flung the first of her knives directly at him and it embedded itself deeply into his left eye. She smiled, delighted.

Gideon cried out, falling to ground. "Child, how could you?" He asked, hoarsely. His breathing dangerously erratic.

Her voice changed, normalizing. "It is bad craft to underestimate your opponent. Too bad you will not live long enough to share that with your daughter."

"You...?"

"Oh yes, I've heard all about you," she began, sweetly, holding one of the knives close to her face. "The man who left his dying wife and young daughter on their own. Some men, they run far to escape obligation, but you were willing to transcend district lines. That takes... commitment."

"No, you-"

Clove threw another knife, this time into the hand that had taken her own. "No, you see. I think you've spoken enough. Did you really think I'd made it this far only to throw it all away?"

She glared at the convulsing man. A flash of her sister's chocolate-brown eyes heavy with tears, clutching their sick mother. A flash of a boy half past dead, murmuring sweetness to her as she cleaned his wounds. A flash of Felix stroking her broken wrist, discussing his plan to ascend all they've known.

In a choked voice, she rasped out. "You betrayed Panem. You betrayed District Two. But, even more than that, you betrayed your family!" He was silent and she mocked him, "Oh, now you have nothing to say! That's fine. I'll enjoy this. Every last shriek until your dying breath."

She yanked the knife out of his eye, pieces of his eyeball and other materials coming out along with it, and she studied it. His anguished screams sending a chill down her spine as she threw the knife to the wayside.

Clove took out another knife and smirked, "Now, let's get started."

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 72_

The chattering hurt her head. She couldn't fully make out what they were saying, but it ached. She leaned her head into her knees.

"Clove, what's wrong?"

She blinked, looking up at Cato. He was looking at her kindly, worried. It only made her stomach turn, "You alright?"

Clove leaned against his left arm and closed her eyes, "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Loey, I'm going to show Dicey and Cato how to use my kamas. You going to come?" Magnilda asked. Clove nodded, and stood up, motioning for the rest to join her. She pulled Magnilda closer to her, keeping her left arm firmly on her younger sister's right shoulder.

"So, if you had to pick a second weapon, what would it be?"

Magnilda grinned, "That's easy. Throwing knives make the most sense. They come in batches, so you can throw one and not lose your weapon, and they work good for close combat, and-" She continued to prattle on and on, and in the distance she heard Dicey laugh.

The world seemed so far away from her now.

* * *

**AN** - The potential tribute test scenes always take a bit of work, because I imagine them to be so gross and terrible. In case ages and birthdays are confusing, Cato was born 06-27-57 and Clove was born 02-4-58. Dicey was born 05-13-57, Felix 07-3-56, Nero 08-28-56, and Magnilda 07-2-61. In this story, the reapings take place in late May and the games usually play throughout the month of June, so both Cato and Clove will be sixteen for the games.


	19. The Sanctity

We spent some time together walking  
Spent some time just talking about who we were  
You held my hand so very tightly  
And told me what we could be dreaming of  
There's nothing like you and I.

- The Perishers, "Nothing Like You and I"

* * *

"And congratulations to Nero Kaiser for topping all of you ingrates with this year's highest execution count, an impressive 87 kills."

Nero had an inkling that at least three pairs of eyes were gazing at him questioningly. He couldn't wait to explain this one. As of five seconds ago, he was probably dead to Felix.

"You are all dismissed until July 1st."

Nero turned when a hand slapped his left shoulder, "Nice work, Kaiser." Kyler Gunner was grinning at him, particularly amused, and Nero's eyes followed to see who he was looking at. Felix shot him a death glare. Yeah, he was definitely dead to Felix.

Dicey dragged Cato over to him by the arm. The blonde broke his grasp, and began a tangent, "Okay, I'm starting to believe this idiot, and he is never right. Dude, tell me what the hell is going on." Dicey kicked him for that comment and Cato gave him an annoyed glared back.

_How could he even begin to explain this one? Well, he'd fallen in love. Head over heels, unwavering, loyally by your side love. That's what had happened.  
_

Except, he couldn't say that because then they'd wonder why he'd never said anything. Oh, and there would be endless mocking from his emotionally dense companions. "Really, it's nothing. I go to the practice range on Sundays to work on my technique. You know, moving targets make more sense. That's all."

"And you never invited us. Thanks a lot, jackass," Dicey snapped. The redhead was heating up again, and Nero wasn't really in the mood to play peacemaker. Couldn't he turn off the fireworks for once? He'd become so obnoxious since reuniting with Cato.

Nero ran his hands through his ash brown hair. "Don't let this whiny bastard give you trouble. He's just jealous," Cato told him, seamlessly edging himself into the role of peacemaker. He then ruined it by elbowing Dicey's in the ribs. Nero just nodded to him gratefully.

_Aniston Wagner had been this cute little blonde in his grammar class. She never hesitated to help someone up off the floor or hand them a handkerchief when they sneezed. The other boys in class scoffed at her. They thought she was too weak to handle herself, too delicate. Most of them preferred someone... durable._

"I'll fight you! Just give me a reason!"

"Give it a rest, Dice." Cato said, a small grin on his face.

_She'd come up to him on one of the first days of school, after she'd seen Felix give him a lecture on some non-issue. She offered him a place at her table if he ever got tired of being 'mistreated.' He asked her if she'd like to accompany him to lunch off-campus instead. She'd said yes._

As much as Felix was deceitful and obnoxious, he was the closest thing in the entire annex that Nero had to a best friend. Although, more of the time, he reminded him of an antagonizing older brother. "So, it was you," was all he said when Nero stood before him.

"Are you surprised?" Nero inquired sincerely.

Felix studied him, indecisive. "I had a lapse in judgement. I've always thought of you as too... attached."

_They'd gone off to lunch on a breezy Sunday afternoon, and discussed simple things. Their aspirations, families, and interests. Her father owned the town quarry. He spoke of his family, small and close-knit, just him and his widowed mother. He had omitted Clove and Magnilda. That was material more appropriate for the second date._

"Well, that's the fun part with strangers. There's no attachment involved." A small smirk appeared on Nero's face. It disappeared at Felix's lack of engagement in the conversation.

_Aniston had an older sister who was newly married, and she enjoyed books on landscaping and decorating. He told her of his aspirations to work on the military base in Two North, how he had an uncle who worked as a strategist, who was mentoring him. She had smiled, embarrassed, and covered her mouth after revealing that she'd never been in so much as a fist fight. He understood why the other boys didn't like her, but he tried hard to forgive her for such vulnerability._

"I've preponed my three year plan," Felix announced.

Nero gave him a strange look, "What's that mean?"

"I've been selected as Two West's candidate for the 73rd tribute spot."

Nero didn't bother to hide his pride, bumping his fist into Felix's chest, "That's great! Why didn't you tell us?"

_They began spending all their spare time together. She'd come by the Annex after training, walk home alongside him, telling him of all the places she wanted to go. When she took his hand in hers for the first time, his heart had started pumping faster than it'd ever had during any exam or demonstration. About four months in, around January, she asked him if he'd ever killed before. He'd laughed. hard._

Felix gave him a smile. One he rarely saw anymore, and to be honest, it alarmed him more than anything else. "It's all I've ever wanted, Nee, and it's nearly all mine."

_She was all he'd ever wanted. Aniston had asked him, abashed, if he'd kill for her. He'd shrugged and told her that he'd kill for pretty much anyone. So she asked him to allow her to witness him kill, to be the one to commit her first in-person kill. And so they'd planned it out. She even dressed up. It had been a date._

"Felix Grey, winner of the 73rd annual hunger games," Nero beamed at him, "I like it."

"Don't jinx me. The prime of life is the worst place to be, because it's the highest point from which to fall."

Always a pessimist.

_They'd found a young man, no older than 21, traveling the streets. Nero had been dressed in a shirt and tie. Aniston pointed him out and Nero tackled the man to the ground. It wasn't a fair fight. He was clearly intoxicated, but Nero wanted to make it special for her, so he begun to break every bone in the man's body. One by one._

"How are you going to tell Clove?" he asked Felix, with a pointed smirk.

"I want to settle this... gently."

Nero studied him, absolutely bewildered, "Can you be gentle?"

_When he heard a gasp from behind him, he swerved around, ready to protect Aniston from whoever had taken hold of her. But, she was alone. Teary, shivering, and alone. So, he broke the man's spine, stood up, and asked her what was wrong. She backed away from him, blocking him from view. He called out her name, but she continued to back away._

"Despite what you Holloways may think, I don't go out of my way to make Clove's life miserable."

"Because she's your star pupil?" Nero asked.

"Because she's brilliant."

_The brilliance in her eyes was gone. Nero stepped forward and pulled her arms down roughly. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she pleaded with him not to hurt her. It struck him so suddenly. He hesitated for a moment, confused. Then, pulled her into his arms, cradling her face in his shoulder, and shushing her sweetly. He apologized, rubbed circles on her back, and kissed her chastely on the forehead. Aniston sobbed into his shoulder, begging for forgiveness._

"She forgive you yet?"

"Not explicitly," Nero smiled at Felix. At least his interest in Clove was platonic, "This is a lot to reorganize, but I have to enlist little Clove. Wasn't expecting this all to happen so soon."

_He hadn't expected to fall for her so fast. Nero held her hand the entire way home, hoping she understood how sorry he was. When they got to her front door, he kissed her. Aniston returned the gesture ten fold and pulled him into the house, where they had proceeded to consummate their affections for the very first time.  
_

"So, then, what? You're going to pull Clove into the 74th and pick someone else for the quell?"

Felix shook his head, "No. I need Clove in the Quell. She's got just the right look about her. They'd never expect someone so innocent to be so lethal."

"You're seriously misguided if you think Clove is innocent."

_Nero was smitten. He adored the way she discussed the flora and the fauna, much of it foreign to the desert landscape of District Two. He loved the way she looked at him, stars in her eyes, holding him on the roughest days, and encouraging him in his pursuit of information. So, when she asked him to commit another kill in her honor, he'd refused. How could he see her like that again? Her frailty had broken him irrevocably._

"I've got to do something, otherwise it won't matter if Clove wins the Quell. We'll have an unsealable gap between her and I."

Nero laughed humorlessly, "Your whole life has been riding on this plan. What if it fails?"

Felix emitted a neurotic laugh, "It can't fail, and you already know why."

"There's more out there than the quarries, Felix."

The raven-haired boy pulled him in closer, a look of unwavering determination in his eyes. "This is my only chance to be bigger than my parents. I thought if anyone would understand that, you would."

_But, she pulled him in closer, whispering that the whole scene only increased her love for him. The fact that someone so strong could be so gentle moved her. She leaned into his embrace, kissing his chest, and he agreed. And she must have been right, because he felt like a hero, brushing away her tears the next afternoon and carrying her over the threshold to commit themselves to each other a second time, and then they repeated the motion a third, and a fourth, and...  
_

"You could fill the gap. Vie for a spot in the 74th annual hunger games," Felix told him, edging him towards a decision.

Nero shook his head. He had no plans to be a contender in a set of games that risked ripping him away from the the ones he cared for. After all, Nero Kaiser was nothing like his father.

"Oh, come on! 87 kills, one of them must have gotten your blood pumping!"

"They all got my blood pumping," he told Felix honestly.

Though, that had less to do with the gory heap on the floor, and more to do with with the damsel dangling off his arm.

* * *

She thought she could outrun him. A critical error in judgement. "Cato, stop it!" she said, giggling, as he tickled her.

"Clove, stop being a lazy asshole and come help set up." Felix ordered, setting out another container of snacks. Dicey threw a piece of granola at her, inching away when she leaped forward. Cato held her back, with an amused grin.

She wrestled her way out of his hold, but shot him a smile, before pulling out several bowls to fill. In the cupboards, she selected boxes of whole-wheat crackers, as well as cans of cream cheese and peanut butter. She then went into the refrigerator and withdrew sliced celery, hummus, and carrot slices.

"Tell me you got some- Yes!" Cato cheered from the pantry, holding a bag of color-coated pieces of chocolate.

Dicey stuck his tongue out of him, "Who says you don't like candy, sweet cheeks?"

Cato grinned dangerously, pulling the redhead into a headlock, and rubbing his knuckles against the boy's hair. The boys laughed so hard they nearly fell to the floor.

"What happened to your hair, red?" Clove inquired as she closed the refrigerator, hiding her mouth with her hand.

"See, even Clove likes your new look, Dice." He joked.

Right around the same time, Felix began to descend the stairs, "Digging the lesbian vibe with Mansfield, H. Although, isn't she a little old for you?" He called out, his arms filled with several pillows he'd stolen from Clove and Magnilda's rooms. As soon as he reached the bottom, he dropped the bounty onto the floor.

Cato rolled his eyes, "With how much my stepmother talks about Mina Carrold, I'm pretty sure she's got an even bigger crush than Clove."

"Athena Mansfield is steaming. Don't even pretend you wouldn't spend a night with her," Clove challenged him.

"Oh, I'd spend several nights with her." Cato said, giving Clove a perverted grin. She returned the gesture with a flirtatious smirk.

The doorbell rang and Dicey jumped. Felix laughed heavily, "Too bad. I was beginning to think the two of you were going to christen the floor right in front of us."

He went to answer the door while Cato and Clove decided to make it their personal mission to make Dicey as uncomfortable as possible. Nero and his friend rolled in, looking entirely overdressed, in Clove's humblest opinion. She was a dainty little blonde, nothing unlike the several numbers she'd seen Cato tease over the years, but she had a different sort of air to herself.

Nero smiled at the girl hanging off his arm, "Aniston, this is Clove, my cousin, and Dicey and Cato. They train with me up at the Annex."

"Nice to-" she extended her hand, but Cato and Dicey seemed preoccupied with another matter entirely.

"You guys are cousins?"  
"Wait, how long have you been related?"

Felix let out a chuckle. Dicey whipped around and turned to him, "You knew!"

"Course, I did. Nee let it slip," he said, casually. Felix seemed to be enjoying their surprise a little too much. Nero wondered if it was too much to hope they'd keep the theatrics under wraps for once.

Cato and Dicey began blinking, and looked at Clove in an entirely new light, as if she'd grown a second head, or maybe a heavier chest.

"Nero, you're kidding me, right? How many times did we use Clove as team rag doll? That is not cool, man."

The petite girl jumped up in return, challenging the blonde, "Hey, I can protect myself! I don't need this idiot and his stupid arrows defending me."

Nero sighed, determining himself not to roll his eyes and leave the group to their own festivities. He looked towards Dicey and inquired, "Where are the kids?"

"You guys have kids?" Aniston asked.

Cato, Clove, and Dicey stood there, bewildered. Usually, one of them played referee for the other two, but this time none of them could really believe they'd met someone so... unique. None of them bothered to tell the other two that the looks on their face would most certainly be construed as impolite.

"We might," Clove shrugged, effectively breaking the silence, and pointing at Dicey, "but if we did, they probably went missing around the last time we had sex. Which was when I was twelve, so-"

Nero's eyes widened, with the horrifying knowledge that Aniston wouldn't understand Clove's remark as a joke. He slapped his hand over Clove's mouth before she could say anything else, but the girl didn't hesitate to chomp down. "Ow! Clove, what the hell?"

"Cal, Nelle, and Hal are at Dicey's. That was the deal," Cato told him quietly as Felix turned to Aniston.

"Hey new chick, want some sausages?" Felix asked, with a wolfish grin.

She smiled uncomfortably, "My name's Aniston. You're in my mathematics class."

"Am I?" he asked. Then added unenthusiastically, "That's great."

Nero found this the perfect opportunity to recreate Aniston's image of him, "Felix is Two West's candidate for 73rd tribute. He's the best in our cohort."

"The best of the best," he added, with a jab. Nero had to suppress a laugh, because he knew Aniston wouldn't understand, and he didn't want her to feel left out by their jokes.

Dicey tried to even out the tone, so, earnestly, he remarked, "Nero had our cohort's highest kill count this year. We didn't expect that. It itched him up in the rankings to fourteen out of fifty two."

"Yeah," Cato agreed with a wink, "Maybe, you corrupted him, Aniston."

Nero barely resisted the urge to slam his fist into Cato's face. He was harmless, right? Sickly infatuated with Clove? or was that Dicey?

Clove brooded for a moment, refusing to say anything. Dicey and Cato egged her on quietly, and she finally agreed to make her first sincere remark. She looked at the cute little blonde before her, "Why don't you train?"

The blonde girl looked down at her with a smile, "My father owns the quarry, so I prefer to help him with his work instead."

"So you're a Pittman?" Felix asked, rejoining the conversation.

She though to herself, "Technically, I guess." Then elaborated at the curious glances, "My grandfather is Allium Pittman, but my father took over ownership after he married my mother twenty years ago. It's still a family business, though. We all work very hard," she explained.

Dicey averted his eyes. That could at least be played off as normal. Felix, on the other hand, looked near combustible. Nero hadn't wanted the two of them conversing for a reason. He had wanted to fix her impression of Felix on his own, but now, he'd have to intercept if Felix came at her. This was getting off to a great start, he thought to himself. Just fucking great.

The group sat in the dark living room, watching as the carriages brought the tributes out. Cato was sitting in the center of the couch, Clove to his right, her head resting in his lap, and Dicey sitting to his left. Felix was an armchair to himself, while Nero sat on the floor, his legs open, with Aniston perched inside of his warm grasp.

"District One is beyond help," Clove complained, as the tributes began the parade adorned in sheer material and gems that covered only their most intimate spots. She flung a piece of chocolate against the screen in rebellion and Cato removed her hand from his bag, warning her.

"If you're going to fling my chocolate, Clovey, then you can't have any."

She pouted, "Oh whatever."

"Cheer up, Clo. We don't look too shabby this year." Dicey noted, as the next carriage came into view.

Their tributes were dressed in beige dress material, with white wing clips in the female tribute's hair. The male wore white pants, his tunic much shorter than his partner's, with a white helmet that rested firmly on his head. Dicey wondered if the stylists knew that the other districts weren't actually supposed to know they trained peacekeepers. Maybe, they'd just excuse them as eccentric.

District Seven came outfitted in trees, as per usual. Felix chimed up with a smirk, "Look at the girl. She's two seconds from ending it all right now."

The group laughed, sans Clove, who was yawning to stay awake. Cato smiled, glad that in the darkness, no one could see him gently stroking her hair.

* * *

**AN** - Sorry, if I confused anyone with the last chapter. Clove's mother died in the fall of year 70. She was alive at the time of Clove's exam, but very sick. Her father works in District Two North at the military base (The Nut), so between the girls' training and his work schedule, he's not around much. Gideon Alonzo wasn't important. Clove just recognized him from a news special on television, because he'd tried to cross district lines, which was pretty much unheard of. As for the images she saw before she killed him, she saw her sister crying, Dicey nearly dying after Cato attacked him following his brother's death [chapter 11], and Felix telling her about his three year plan [chapter 8].

As for Nero and his girlfriend, they're a little... unhinged. Felix and his quarry-hatred will come into context soon. I promise.


	20. The Precedent

The man who can keep a secret may be wise,  
but he is not half as wise as the man with no secrets to keep.

-Edgar Watson

* * *

**Recap** / Nero had the highest execution count for his cohort, at 87 kills. His friends responded less than enthusiastically and he decided not to tell them how he'd achieved such a high number. In fact, he'd fallen for an untrained girl, who asked him to kill for her. In doing so, she realized killing might not be all it's cracked up to be, and ended up scared of Nero. When he went to comfort her, she felt a forbidden attraction and the young lovers had sex for the first time. She soon came to the conclusion that Nero's acts thrilled her, reminding her of the first time and how much he'd cared for her afterwards and they'd go on to repeat it many times over the period of five months. Meanwhile, Felix had been chosen as Two West's candidate for the 73rd annual hunger games and had begun to strategize how to bring his plan to fruition. When Nero brought over Aniston to Clove's house to meet his friends, he unknowingly revealed that he and Clove are cousins to Dicey and Cato, who were less than impressed with his behavior over the past several years.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 73, Part I of III.  
_

* * *

_December_

His chest felt heavy, and as he looked into the mirror, he acknowledged the inevitable. He'd lost weight. More than what could be considered healthy. He was still muscular, but a lot less than he had been before. If he kept up this routine, in only a few more months, he'd look unattractive and frail. Though, considering his situation, he didn't think that too bad an alternative.

He splashed the water, hoping to erase the lines on his face. The bags under his eyes remained, though, and he made his way back into the luxurious bed, hoping to fall asleep and never wake up.

This had been all he'd ever wanted his entire life. To be wealthy, and admired, and to prove that high risk reaps high reward. Was that even true anymore? He was a shell of his former self, quiet and controlled. The quips he'd once made only seemed painful in retrospect.

And, in the end, he felt all alone.

* * *

_May, Section I__  
_

"Clove! Cloveee! Uh-" he ducked an incoming knife that barely missed him, embedding itself into a portrait of the last District Two winner behind him. Better it than him. "I have something to tell you."

She didn't say anything, only going back to the knives. Clove made several throws, all on target. Though, if he ever did see her miss, something told him he wouldn't live long enough to tell.

He scowled at her, "I'd prefer if you'd look at me while I share my life-changing information!"

Even with her back to him, he knew she was rolling her eyes. Classic Clove. "What, did you knock up some slut? Just punch her in stomach and go on with your day. You are such a drama queen sometimes."

"Can you be serious for, I don't know, five seconds?"

She turned to him with a smirk and caressed her one of her knives, "Depends on what you want, babe."

Cato balked at her, crossing his arms, and shaking his head. "Cutes, if that was your attempt at trying to seduce me, you desperately failed."

Clove shot him a dirty look and returned to her knife-throwing. Cato sighed, scolding himself for provoking the tiny wreck. "Come on, Clove. Please-"

She turned to him, yelling at him as if he was the most foul thing she'd ever seen, "WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

"Stop being such a bitch. I'm trying to tell you that I'm going into the games!" He snapped, retrieving the knife from the portrait and throwing it at one of the targets. "They picked me as Two West's candidate for 74th! But, since you obviously don't care, I'll go find someone else who does!" It hit dead center.

Clove stared at him and quietly asked, "What?"

He sneered at her, "And I don't know why I felt you were first one I should tell. I could've made it my mother, Dicey, or my father, maybe even Oliver, but instead I told you! Maybe, because I expected my best friend to at least be happy for me, but-"

Cato's face flushed as he continued rambling on, and he looked so... Clove walked over to him, almost as if being led by a puppeteer, and stood on her tip toes. Closing her eyes, she brought his face down to her own, and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

_May, Section II._

"Cal!" the blonde mess barreled into his arms. Sobbing uncontrollably, she collapsed into his chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took his sister away from prying eyes, hushing her as much as he could.

When they got into the lounge, he pointed toward the door and a couple of young boys gave him the finger, but left once he gave them a threatening glare.

"Hal, you're not hurt, are you?"

When she didn't answer, he looked directly at her and repeated louder, "You're not hurt, are you?"

"Dicey is going to hate me."

Callan felt like a hypocrite. All of sudden, he had a revelation. It no longer seemed fair to him to make a twelve year old girl kill. He'd never felt this way before, and had Halle not been in his arms crying, he doubted he would have felt this way at all. "Some people, they just aren't cut out for this. Killing is an art that has to be mastered slowly."

She looked up at him, tearing up even more, "But that's the worst part! I did kill him!"

The dark-haired boy studied her, noticing eye makeup he hadn't even know she had running down her face. "I don't understand."

Halle snatched a pillow and held it against her chest, "I picked up a machete. It was the cleanest weapon that I know how to use. And, I stabbed the guy right in the heart, because I didn't know what else to do, and blood starting spurting out of his chest, so I dropped it and tried to get away, but he fell on me, and I couldn't get him off. I tried really hard, and then everyone started laughing at me so the first instructor pulled him off of me and told me-" she began sobbing again.

He sat by her side, uncomfortable and indecisive.

The door opened about a minute into his pondering, "Tell me it isn't true!"

"Dicey-" Callan began.

The redhead stormed over, pulling Halle away from Callan, "Tell me it isn't true." His brown eyes were cool and unsympathetic and he tightened his grip on her wrists, "Tell me, Halle!"

"Hey, stop it!" the dark-haired boy ordered, jumping to his feet, and dragging Halle out of Dicey's grasp. He pushed her onto the couch, then turned back and punched Dicey in the stomach. After Halle landed on the couch, she cried out, and both boys stopped. Callan returned to Halle's side instantly, trying to find her injuries.

Dicey glared, wiping away at tears that wouldn't stop coming. "You promised! You promised me, Halle!" He shouted at her, and then punched the wall. The brick bruised his knuckles, leaving nasty red cuts.

"I think it was for the best," Callan said quietly. "Better for her to be cut now, than to earn a several dozen more scars for nothing. If she wasn't made for it now, she wouldn't have been later."

Halle nodded vigorously, "And I since turned twelve last year I can do business now, Dicey. Make myself a... commodity and pay the Annex back."

The auburn boy paled, "No!" He started to cry harder, leaning his head against the wall. The thought made his stomach hurt and he was sure any moment now, the world would come down crumbling around him, "Please, Hal, don't. Please."

"Dicey, calm down."

"Don't fucking tell me what to do, Callan! I'm the oldest, not you!" he snapped.

Callan exhaled, "Look, I know you're scared. But, right now you need to toughen up. Do you really want to go into your exam crying? We already have to deal with Halle's mess. We can't really afford for you to fail too!"

"That's real reassuring."

The dark-haired teen sighed, "Well, forgive me for having the foresight to prevent a disaster in the making."

"Cal's right," Halle said quietly.

"Course, I am," Callan told her, lightly. He looked at Dicey with a softer expression, "You have to be strong. We're counting on you to be our rock. We need you, Dicey. Do you think you can do that?"

His brother only nodded, tiredly, bitterly, "It's not like I have a choice."

* * *

_June, Section I.  
_

"So tell us, how did your parents react when you volunteered? I bet they were very proud," Caesar Flickerman asked, his green hair sleeked back. He winked at some women in the front row.

"They uh passed away when I was nine."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's terrible misfortune."

The boy shook his head, grinning at the host, "I'm sure they'd be very proud of me. They loved District Two as much as I do. It's really the best place to be, and it's an absolute honor to be here representing my district. I'm really, really grateful for the opportunity."

"Many of the homes constructed in the Capitol couldn't be made without the precious stone from District Two, did you know..."

Clove scoffed at the television as Felix and Caesar continued their discussion, "What is Fix playing at?"

Cato shrugged, "Probably realized that he actually has to kill everyone else to win, and you know, he doesn't exactly have the best personality."

She watched as Caesar and Felix spoke about his impression of the Capitol. "I don't know, he's not doing too badly with the audience. They're eating right out of the palm of that little bitch's hand."

The blonde laughed, "Who are you betting on, then?"

"Mariana from 4 is a hot little number, and with her 9, I bet she's got what it takes to take the bastard down."

"Is that the hand you're playing?" Cato asked, a smirk on his lips, "Because, I wager she's the first ally to go."

She stuck her tongue at him, "In your dreams!"

They looked to Nero, awaiting his input, but he continued to sit quietly with his knees up to his chest. Cato glanced at the older teen, furrowing his brows, "What aren't you telling us?"

"Felix's parents died in a quarry slide in 65. He wasn't lying and now everyone knows."

* * *

**AN** - The Annex runs on a sort of investment system. It's free to attend as long you continue to pass your exams. If you flunk out, you have to pay restitution to the Annex to compensate for training materials and employer costs. The idea being that those who do not make it to the games will become peacekeepers, so they're getting their money's worth out of them anyways. The longer one attends the courses, the higher the cost if they flunk out. This is one of the reasons why there can be a student who ranks 50th in a class of 50, but who wouldn't necessarily drop. Because that would be costly, even if you have no hopes of going to the games.

This is Part I out of III for Year 73. Look for II later today, and III on Friday.


	21. The Awakening

When love is not madness, it is not love.

- Pedro Calderon de la Barca

* * *

**AN**_** - **_This is the second chapter in my two part update, make sure you read the previous chapter first!_  
_

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 73 - Part II of III - June_

Clove's eyes didn't leave the screen. She was absolutely transfixed. The girls in Felix's alliance were in hushed huddle, developing a plan to take Felix and his District One counterpart Silk out. The black-haired boy was sitting on a log, cleaning his sharpened hammer and wiping sweat off his forehead. Even in darkness the savanna didn't cool.

The screen switched over to the surviving tribute from District Six. His partner had sacrificed herself for him to get away, and currently, the watery blonde was near death, seeking water. The screen flashed again and a cannon sounded, the camera closed in on a shot of the youngest tribute, a twelve-year-old from District Three, who had died from something he'd eaten.

Clove's eyes drooped and she fell away from Nero's shoulder. The cousins yawned synonymously and Cato picked Clove up bridal style. She didn't bother opening her eyes as he carried her into the next room over. Clove's bangs fell over her face and Cato had to resist the impulse to brush them away.

Cato placed her on the kitchen counter and the teen blinked her eyes open and close several times, before yawning, "What's wrong?"

"I have a question and I want you to answer honestly. I've given you long enough to think about it and now I have to know."

She had inkling, but pressed the matter anyway, "Go on."

"How do you feel about me?"

The brunette stifled another yawn, "Depends on the day."

Cato looked up and tried to think of a way to rephrase his question.

Finally, he settled on, "When you kissed me, was it because you like me? because you felt bad, or maybe, was it that you find me hot?" He ground his hips against the counter, giving her a wink. Clove rolled her eyes, "Or is it because I'm just too irresistible," and then glared at him, "or was it because you wanted me to stop talking... like I am now..."

She bit her lip to suppress a laugh, but failed in the endeavor. She flicked the side of his head, "At least you're a quick study."

He gave her a half-grin, "Out with it, Holloway! I need to know!"

His eyes must have played tricks on him, because he could have sworn he saw he saw her cheeks redden. The girl with no shame was biting on the nail of her thumb and giving him half-answers, "I don't know why."

Cato looked at her with disbelief, "Well, I'll just have to help you remember, then." He leaned in, this time initiating the kiss. The blonde was surprised that for a girl rough around all the edges, Clove had pleasantly soft lips.

When he withdrew from her, Cato's grin widened. She was definitely blushing, and it had to have been one of the most endearing things he'd ever seen. He had to laugh a little. For someone so lethal, she was definitely fun to tease, and even though he knew better, he still gave her a flirtatious look anyways.

She became defensive at his stare and challenged, "Well, how do you feel about me?"

The blonde smirked, "Depends on the day."

"Cato," she whined.

He laughed again, a playful smirk lighting up his face, "You'll have to earn my answers."

"What?" she demanded flatly.

"For every answer I give you, I get a kiss. And you know you want to play, because unlike in there-" he pointed towards the living room, "In this game, everybody wins."

The brunette shook her head, "Not a chance."

"Oh, come on, Clove."

"No!"

He pouted, "Why not?"

"Because... ugh. I hate you so much!" she groaned, glaring at him.

"But, you're still going to do it," he goaded, flashing his pearly whites. He closed in on her and whispered into her neck, "I'm ready whenever you are, Clovey."

"Alright, then, _how do you feel about me?_"

"That's easy. You're most definitely the cutest thing I've ever seen. Well, except for Nelle, but that's not really fair. She might as well have the word stamped all over her forehead."

Clove sighed, dejected, and pressed her lips to his left cheek. "So, what does that mean exactly? I know you're not interested in my sister-" she made a strange face and then told him with a threatening glare, "Well, you better not be. So, you think I'm cute like some baby kitten or..."

"Cute like a kitten? Definitely." He teased, "but you're also so damn kissable. Definitely wouldn't be playing a game like this with Nelle" and then for an afterthought added, "or any other girl."

That brought a lopsided smile to Clove's face and kissing him didn't seem like as much of a chore this time around, though she made a note to work on eliminating the word 'cute' from his vocabulary.

"Oh, is that all?" she joked.

He smirked, "You were never one for low self-esteem, but if you want to keep the game going..."

The little brunette crossed her arms, giving him a halfhearted glare. He withheld a laugh, knowing it'd send her into a tantrum and ruin the mood.

"Your determination. It's unbreakable. I don't think I've ever seen you give up on anything in your whole life." He swallowed, his eyes twinkling, "Not even me."

Her expression became softer, and she gently pressed her lips to his forehead. Cato buried his face into her shoulder, knowing no matter where he was, as long as he was with her, he was home. She ran her hand through the roots of his hair, "We can stop-"

Cato pulled out of the safety of her embrace and gave her a smirk, "The games not over until I say it is, cutes."

"So why do I have to be 'cute', but you get to be 'sexy'?" she blurted out.

His smirk grew even wider, "So, I'm sexy?"

"I am so stup-" she placed her forehead into the palms of her hands.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, interrupting the impending ramblings, "Anyone can be sexy, Clove. There are ten or twelve or fifteen girls in my cohort that any guy could only hope to fuck, but it doesn't matter. I don't want them. They're not you. Sexy is great, but if it's not you, it doesn't matter."

She looked at him desperately, "Please tell me this isn't some form of psychological torture." Her concern was quickly masked and replaced by suspicion, "I swear I will castrate you, Cato."

"Relax, Clove. I'm not always out to get you. Only like, 87% of the time."

"You're hoping I find you funny enough to let you off the hook for calling me unsexy."

He bat his big, blue eyes, and asked her, huskily, "Is it working yet?"

"Only because I'm District Two's biggest sucker."

Cato waggled his eyebrows suggestively at that, running his tongue over the top row of his teeth. She pushed him off of her with a laugh, "I hate you, you know."

He kissed the tip of her nose, smiling, and brought their foreheads together. "I hate you too."

* * *

**AN** - Don't hate me for the fluff, because I hate myself enough for all of you. Even though Cato doesn't say it often, I hope you've gotten the impression over the last 20 or so chapters that he is really fond of Clove. Anyways, I felt like this piece should be on its own, so part three will be up later today or tomorrow. PS. I've always imagined Magnilda "Nelle/Nelly" as a taller version of Bailee Madison, and when I saw a picture of her and Isabelle Fuhrman together last night, I knew she was perfect as her sister.


	22. The Ballad of a Sad Man

Grief makes one hour ten.

- William Shakespeare

* * *

Hunger Games Year 73 - Part III of III

* * *

_September_

In his nightmares, screams echoed from a distance, but he never matched the sounds with the faces. He'd never see Cinder, his willowy district partner from Two East, or Amethyst from One. Not even Mariana, from Four, who'd been his favorite, the cleverest of them all. The one who'd first tried to betray him.

Instead, he'd see Jade and Roe. Their blood upon his hands.

He was a toxin, afflicting every life he touched, and he needed to be contained. So he locked himself away. How could he think he'd deny the president and escape unscathed? That level of naivety was much better suited to someone else. Roe, maybe.

It had been weeks, maybe even months. He didn't know what day it was, only vaguely that it was late out, and the light still touched the earth. Tomorrow, he'd return to the Capitol and resume his role. Repay his debts. Thank them for his life. He spit at the thought. They'd killed him anyways.

He slid down the wall, holding his head, and trying to shut out the nightmares as he recalled Roe pleading with him, tugging at his shirt, and planting a sloppy, coercive kiss on his cheek. He'd seen the light in Jade's eyes when the four year old had asked him a favor. His sister hadn't been happy, had been concerned for her daughter's safety.

Felix had told her, briefly absolving all her concerns, that he'd be okay. That he'd win, and that they'd all be okay.

He'd never been one for sincerity, yet the irony of his last sentiments haunted him both in his sleep and waking consciousness.

Just days before President Snow called him to the Capitol for the first time, he'd begun to construct this room for Roe. It'd been painted green, of a land he'd only seen in catalogs, and decorated in plush toys and the highest quality materials.

On the last day before he left, he'd even caught a small jackrabbit for her to keep.  
She never got to see it.

* * *

_August_

"A good effort there. Couldn't have done it better myself."

"Considering you don't use a sword, I think that's a moot point, Fox." Cato muttered, annoyed.

"I could learn," Adie said offhandedly.

He didn't bother looking at her when he informed, "It'd be a waste of time, because I won't be sharing."

"Not even with your district partner?" she asked, coyly.

"If you even have to ask, you don't belong here."

She smirked at him, "What's gotten you all rallied up, hot stuff?" She leaned against the wall, a spear gliding loosely in her right hand.

"Fox, there's a reason why no one will fuck you. You pretty much destroyed all your sex appeal when you decided to spear a guy in the balls right in front of the whole cohort."

Adie's response was laced with amusement, "Pretty unforgettable, wasn't it?"

"You traumatized 58 twelve-year old boys at once. That incident in particular tops the list of the images I see in my worst nightmares. The worst being Stannig after she's had six weeks to put on the weight she's spent the previous eleven months losing."

The brunette arched a brow and grabbed a black marker from the mobile whiteboard. "I don't know how the girls resist you."

Cato snorted, haughtily, "You must not pay attention."

"I pay enough attention to know you're a virgin, hot stuff," Adie teased, her crocodile smile widening by the second as he looked at her with dismay. She inched up to him, flirtatiously, and laid a dainty, calloused finger on his bare chest, "Has anyone ever told you that you're pretty miserable at strategy?"

Snapping out of his daze, he grabbed her wrist, making sure he was firm enough to keep her in his grasp, but careful enough not to injure her. Smirking, she loosened his grip on her wrist and gave him an admonishing look.

"You are too easy to play, Elroy," she chastised, the flirtatious undertones gone. "I took a gamble and it panned big rewards. For a good ten seconds, you became so involved with what I was saying, that you didn't pay attention to what I was doing."

Adie's eyes trailed to his hands and then his chest, each area had been marked with a black x, "What's all this?" he asked.

"Each of those spots are areas where I could have speared you in the ten seconds you were distracted," Cato followed her to the whiteboard, where she replaced the marker, and pulled an anatomy text out of her school bag, "There's a reason why anatomy is usually taught to seniors. The schools want their candidates well-versed in the lethal and non-lethal areas of the human body."

"You're not a senior, Fox. Nero is the youngest senior in the cohort and you test after him."

She nodded, "Good, you're observant. Use that to your advantage. I happen to have borrowed this text from Mr. Hyland. He can be an amicable man when persuaded."

"You'd do _that_ just for a textbook?" Cato asked, failing to hide his disgust.

Adie released a contemptuous sigh, "And I'd just gotten done calling you observant. No Cato, I didn't fuck the teacher for a textbook. As you noted earlier, I've forever warded off the advances of the boys in our cohort. What happens, Elroy, when a girl turns twelve?"

He stared at her stupidly.

Exasperated, Adie huffed, "They become fair play. Anyone can snatch the tiniest little thing and have their way with them. Sexual consent laws end at twelve."

The blonde's mind strayed unwillingly to Magnilda, the thought of anyone ruining her making him sick.

"I wasn't about to let one of you fuckers try to bed me and leave me torn in some dirty back alley. It's like you said, I destroyed all of my sexual appeal within the cohort. But not in the Capitol's eyes, and that's where it's really going to count."

"Could have saved yourself the effort, Fox. It's against annex rules to force someone into sex."

"If someone wants something, they're not going to let an arbitrary rule stop them. Don't be so naive," she admonished.

He crossed his arms, "And you were so concerned that someone was going to want to have sex with you that you took it out on a dying man?"

"Well, I had the choice to either spear one man to balls, or spear the whole lot when they came after me. This route seemed more cost-effective."

"That takes a lot of planning. You almost sound like Felix," he spat accusingly.

She grinned at his approval, "And do you know why Grey won?"

"Because he was the last one standing," Cato answered, looking at her strangely.

"That's only a slice of the whole pie, Cato. Did you watch his first interview?" Adie asked. Cato nodded, "He spent two minutes and forty-seven seconds of his four minute interview talking about the Capitol. About how much he loved their architecture, about how he was excited to be there, about the different weapons they had in the training center, about his favorite past arenas. He became their ideal victor, physically capable, smart, attractive, and loyal to his last breath."

Cato rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Felix's loyalty is only to himself."

"You haven't been paying much attention all these years, have you? Loyalty to the Capitol is the deepest form of loyalty to yourself. You cater to the Capitol and they'll cater to you. There's more to the games than capability to kill, Cato."

"And if you keep talking, I won't even be able to manage that. Back to work, Fox."

"Back to work, Elroy," Adie agreed, and returned to her spear with a satisfied smirk.

* * *

_October  
_

Cato hacked the dummy to pieces. With their first victor in ten years, the Annex had finally been able to afford newer materials, and with Cato as their candidate, they had desperately needed them. He turned to Clove, who sat in the corner, working on an outline of the 42nd hunger games.

Moving to another dummy, he asked, "If I asked you to define our relationship, what would you call us?"

She contemplated to herself, and then answered with a shrug.

"We're Cato and Clove."

"Cato and Clove, huh?" He asked, before slicing the head off another dummy. With the sweat gliding down his face and the fire in his eyes, he was just the right medicine for her every ailment. Her eyes widened when she realized what she was thinking and how ridiculous it sounded. Though, not as ridiculous as Cato's follow up lines. "So is that a heavy metal band from the Capitol, or the newest legal firm, or..."

She stuck out her tongue in response, and he flashed her a million dollar grin.

"You're in candidacy training and I'm not exactly short-scheduled either. You know how I feel about you and I know what you think about me..."

"As I recall, you called me protective and well-intentioned. If that doesn't get my wheels turning, I don't know what would," he responded.

She arched her eyebrows at his banter, "Someone has a selective memory. I called you stupidly protective, and prone to bad life choices despite being well-intentioned."

"You forgot to mention my forgiving temperament." He teased, stalking over to her and giving her a quick kiss. Cato withdrew from the kiss, and looked at the bemused Clove. "At least I said nice things about you."

She touched his cheek with her thumb. The blonde melted into her touch and Clove smirked at him, lightly teasing, "Ten more dummies and you get another kiss."

"You really know how to motivate a guy, Clovey." Cato joked, returning to his sword with a boyish grin. She rolled her eyes, but was unable to suppress an amused smile. He made sure to commit it to his memory.

* * *

_December_

"Do you remember when we first met?"_  
_

"Tell me," Felix piqued with a yawn, lifting up the heavy sheets and looking into the familiar face with relief.

Nero sat on the bed and draped the raven-haired teen's head onto his legs. He received lackluster protest, but instructed his charge to relax, and quietly began, "It was in the fall of 64. We were in third grade and you'd been punished for talking back to your teacher, so they sent you to help Nurse Owens. And I came into her office with a bleeding scab and told her I'd cut myself while helping my mom cook dinner. When she left to get me a bandage, you locked her in the supply closet and demanded that I tell you what had actually happened."

"You tried to lie to me, but even then I could read you like a book."

Nero smirked. "Yeah, you've always been a tricky little bastard," he said affectionately, "My teacher wrote home, saying I'd been in cahoots with an instigator and that I'd ought to reevaluate my decisions in life. My mom nearly lost her mind and told me if she ever caught me playing in my father's things ever again, she'd send me to my uncle."

Nero continued to pet his hair and went on with the story, "And the next day at the Annex, you saw _some kid _making fun of me for spending all my breaks reading strategy books. You hit him. Pretty hard, actually, and told him never-"

"underestimate your opponents..." Felix finished, then quipped, "But then you went and messed everything up by apologizing on my behalf."

Nero nodded, "You got so annoyed I thought you were going to hit me next, but instead, to balance out my apology, you decided to call him every varied insult of short you could. And yet, he still became our friend."

"More like team mascot."

Nero laughed, "He got so pissed off that he sauntered off to punch the next person he saw. Which just happened to be Cato," he castigated, lightly.

"Yeah, and Cato could not have had the stick any further up his ass either. For the entire first year of training, he didn't talk to anyone about anything, but as soon as he got hit, he turned into a little nightmare."

Nero formed a knowing expression, "And the instructors told them to either put up or shut up and made them duel it out. Dicey beat the shit out of Cato and then turned around and helped him up with the biggest smile of his life."

"I never really thought of it much, but it's your fault we're all friends. If you hadn't picked up your dad's axe, none of this would have happened," Felix told him.

"Yeah, you could have ended up friends with Kyler Gunner."

"I'm not Dicey. I don't befriend my victims."

The ash-haired boy nodded, "Nope. You've always been a professional, Felix." he remarked lightly. "I wish I'd been able to come around more, lately. Between final exams and the Annex, all of my free time's been taken."

"By your quarry whore," the black-haired teen snapped bitterly. _Like you're one to talk, _he thought to himself.

Nero sighed, but didn't stop running his hands through the soft black hair, "I thought we'd made progress on this."

Felix turned away from him and Nero sighed.

Felix moved out of his bed, reached into a drawer, and pulled on a red, long-sleeved t-shirt and a pair of denim jeans. He found that lately he felt more comfortable with at least one or two layers of clothing separating him from everyone else around him. Some would have called that neurotic.

He left Nero on his bed and headed to the kitchen. Nero followed him out a minute later and stood by as he took his third glass of water.

"Why are you sleeping during the day again? You'd been doing better last time I was here."

"Roe's birthday was tomorrow," Felix whispered. "Fuck. I hated my stupid sister for getting pregnant and I hated Roe even more for being born. Hated her so much I wouldn't even call her by name. Just the first syllable. And Jade would tell me over and over that her name was Roxanne and I should address her as such."

Tears began to streak down his face, "When I came home, Roe asked me when I was going to take her to the park. I must have made some off-hand promise to her before I left," He smiled, "and I asked her if she wanted anything else and she shook her head, and I was supposed to take her, but I fucked it up."

Nero pulled Felix into a comforting hug. "I was really going to be a better uncle," he sobbed into Nero's shoulder, "I thought I was safe. That it was safe for me to be normal and not some clusterfuck of everything I ever learned at the Annex, and it's all my fault for-"

"It was an accident, Felix. You couldn't have known... couldn't have known the wiring to the house would have malfunctioned like that."

He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell Nero that he doubted it was faulty wiring that caused the old house to catch fire. It would only put him in him more danger.

Felix could barely restrain himself when he thought about what President Snow had said about Nero. How he "knew all about him" and how he wasn't first child of posthumous tribute to have been born. The president had even handed over his father's file to Felix with a terrifying smile.

Brick Kaiser: District Two tribute for the 56th annual hunger games. His weapon had been a throwing axe and he had been an eighteen year old high school graduate, with sandy brown hair, blue eyes, and a haunting smile. It was eerily similar to his son's. There were copies of his school records, medical reports, and even his senior thesis. Felix recalled Brick's interview, he'd told Caesar that he had something great to look forward to come fall, and when the audience curiously whispered as to what it could possibly be, he promised he'd reveal it in his victor's interview.

That day never came.

Nero hadn't been the only person President Snow had used as leverage against him. He had threatened Jade, his 23 year old sister. Roe, his 4 year old niece. Even his drunken uncle, who he'd wished died a long time ago.

And he'd told the president he wasn't interested. Had thought he was untouchable as victor, and that the president was just bluffing. It didn't take him long to realize that while there was always a victor in the hunger games, there weren't ever any winners.

The dark-haired boy looked out the back window, solemnly, "I leave tomorrow. Beginning at Twelve and then moving up. I'll be home by Harvest Day."

Nero watched him cautiously.

"The trip of a lifetime, and all you had to do was kill eight people. Just another day's work in the life of Felix Grey."

* * *

**AN** -

_Anla'Shok_, you were right on the money about Felix. "To make oneself a commodity" is a euphemism for selling one's body. As Adie so eloquently elaborated, sexual consent laws end at twelve in District Two, so sex in any context [willing or not] becomes legal at that age.

I conceived Felix as someone who wears an air of casualty and arrogance, but whose long-term image of happiness depended entirely on winning the games. He mutually despises and fears the quarries because he didn't want to end up like his parents, who died working there. Felix was selfish, and not at all a nice guy. Over the years, he developed a tendency to see others in terms of what they could do for him, so most of his friendships were pretty shallow. Nero burrowed his way into Felix's good graces by constantly tending to his wounds without expecting anything in return, but the two of them haven't been without their own conflicts either.

Karma is a bitch, Fix. Please review :3


	23. The Fracture

If you're in a bad situation, don't worry it'll change.  
If you're in a good situation, don't worry it'll change.

- John A. Simone

* * *

**Recap** / Felix Grey was District Two's tribute for the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. In his interview, he revealed that his parents had died when he was a child. He returned to District Two the first victor in a decade. Dicey's younger sister, Halle, failed her exam to Potential Tribute and left the redhead in the terrible situation of trying to figure out how to repay her debts. Cato and Clove were having their own set of issues, as Clove started to realize her feelings for Cato, but wasn't sure if he reciprocated them. When he tried to tell her he'd been chosen to represent Two West as their candidate for the 74th games, she took a risk and initiated their first kiss. Of course, when Cato tried to ask Clove how she felt, she naturally evaded him, and they decided to be themselves, no titles necessary. Felix wasn't faring too well, having refused President Snow's demands, and lost his sister and niece as a consequence. The raven-haired teen quickly sunk into a depression, refusing to leave his house except to return to the Capitol. Nero visited, but between how antsy he felt about human contact and how guilt-ridden he was about his family's deaths, Felix wasn't quite ready yet to begin anew, and left for his Victory Tour still deeply troubled.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 74 - January  
_

"Have you ever thought about how divided this school is?" Dicey asked, holding his backpack on his left shoulder. He maneuvered through a growing crowd in the hallway and ducked an incoming herd of students. The building, manufactured entirely in brick, was old-fashioned and monotone, but every hallway had the school number printed on it: D2-91. The redhead's smaller stature made it easier for him to move quickly, and he took full advantage of this while dodging the onslaught of students at every turn. The same couldn't be said for Cato, who stood at 6'2 and usually just pushed the other students out of his path.

"What's the point of hanging around the normal kids?"

"Normal good or normal bad?" Dicey quipped, following the hallway that lead towards their class.

"Just normal. They don't spend 45 hours a week learning a dozen different ways to kill people."

Dicey shrugged lazily, "I don't know. I think I'd rather kill someone that deal with- Oh, speak of the she-devil."

Dicey shot a wink to a graceful and supple brunette who was leaning against a locker. She only glowered at him in response. Cato gave the teen a bemused expression, "Why do you feel the need to constantly pick at her?"

"Because her mood swings are entirely unfair."

Cato groaned, not bothering to hide his amusement, "You're the one going after the _typicals, _Dice. What does she want anyways?"

"A marriage proposal."

Cato feigned a sympathetic expression, "From you? You can barely scrounge up enough money for a piece of toast, let alone a diamond ring."

Dicey scowled at him, looking much more like the testy ten year old he'd been in their childhood than the up and coming young professional.

The blonde smacked him in the back of the head, "Stop whining, princess. You should be glad anyone's interested in you to begin with." They entered the classroom, sitting in the back and continuing their conversation.

The auburn-haired teen sighed, burying his annoyance at the blonde, "We go at it a few dozen times and suddenly I'm a horrible person for not wanting to drop down on one knee. A couple days ago long legs over there told me she thought she was pregnant. As if it was my fucking problem."

"Just push her down the stairs."

"Thanks for the advice, Clove." Dicey mocked with a small smile, slapping the blonde's chest with the back of his hand. "I don't plan on having any sprouts until I'm married. I guess if worse comes to worse, I can take care of the problems with a quick spear to the stomach."

"If you're going to kill them anyways, might as well have fun with it. Don't be a tease, Dice."

Dicey rolled his eyes at the blonde, before adding exhaustively, "At least when I was with Clove there weren't any complications. We'd toss and turn and go on with our lives."

Cato didn't manage a response to that, so Dicey prodded even more.

Dicey pondered aloud, leaning back, "Considering how young she was and the girls I've had since, she wasn't bad. I'd have my way with her again."

The blonde turned to him with a heated glare and smashed his companion's face with his right fist. The auburn-haired boy wiped away the blood and smirked.

"What the hell are you so smug about?"

The auburn-haired teen turned away with a growing smirk, "Oh nothing."

"Tell me, you slick bastard," Cato growled lowly.

"You are so, so fucked," Dicey said in a sing-song tone.

Cato's glare didn't lessen, "What the hell does that mean? You better not be doing anything with Clove."

"Get a grip, C. I try not to repeat my mistakes."

"Then why did you-"

"For the look on your face, you scheming asshole," Dicey said, punching Cato's shoulder.

"What?"

"You and Clo have been off doing your own thing for months and neither of you sociopaths managed to notify me. It wouldn't have taken much time out of your day to say, 'Hey, Dicey, Clove and I are dating. Cool? cool.'"

Cato gave him an exasperated expression, "I could have killed you over that joke, idiot."

"I might not have your academic discipline, but I'm not blind, Cato. And to you both, I say, 'about fucking time!'"

"We're not dating, alright? We're just Cato and Clove," the blonde urged him, thinking about what Clove would do if she found out Dicey knew. They'd explicitly kept it under wraps to avoid the countless jokes that would have inevitably resulted.

Dicey rolled his eyes, "As if I needed an introduction."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that, right?" Cato complained, pulling out his calculus textbook and beginning a problem set. He ignored the funny faces Dicey began making, which include exaggerated smooching sounds and the heart shape formed by his hands.

The auburn-haired teen snatched a few stray sheets out of the blonde's textbook, "A 97, a 98, and a 94. You are such a freak."

"If you'd actually do the work, you might pull yourself out of the dirt." Cato responded, not raising himself from his textbook.

"I literally don't have the time," Dicey lamented. He sighed, leaned forward, and placed his head into his arms.

Cato continued his problem set, "Is teaching so many privates really worth the effort?" he asked, scribbling the next solution into his notebook.

"The alternative is Halle selling herself in the streets, so yes. I don't want my thirteen year old sister getting herself into a predicament she can't get out of. Besides, if she got pregnant, we'd be financially fucked all over again."

"You could always go extort money from Felix."

"Did you see his speech in Three last night? He looked like a dead man walking."

The blonde arched his brows, "Better than the ghostly mess he was in Ten. Can't say I feel much for him. He's taking a long damn time getting over his dead sister and her curtain climber."

Dicey didn't look up from his arms, only murmuring, "I didn't even know he had a sister. I always thought she was his private tutor."

"It's pretty fucking convenient that he managed to extract so many personal details out of us, but we never knew anything about him," Cato replied.

"His greatest enemies just happened to be his closest friends. If it wasn't so risky, I'd think it was brilliant. He's been thinking like a victor since day one."

* * *

_February, Section I.  
_

After five mind-numbing weeks, his tour was finally coming to a concise close. The single remaining district, his own, would be much less troublesome than the several prior. Felix had begun to question the outline districts' mindset. They'd mourn two dead teenagers but wouldn't wouldn't work to repair their own economic conditions? He'd send 100 teenagers to the games if it meant the rest of the district would be fully able to care for its children.

Utilitarianism, in a nutshell.

In Eleven, the kids were as scrawny as they were abundant. Ten was breezy and uncomfortable. The seventeen year old boy hadn't ever been in a snowstorm, let alone the miserable blizzard that overtook them. Having come from the arid desert of District Two, he'd suffered greatly that evening. In District Eight, the citizens' eyes feasted upon him and he had a few theories as to what they wanted. The clothes off his back. Maybe even the skin off his bones.

He wondered if he'd killed one of their tributes.

He couldn't remember.

Everything that happened before his allies betrayed him was a blur, and even the deaths that followed were somewhat unclear in his recollection. He'd seen a brief recap in his victor's interview, but the scenes had been selectively edited together in a manner that told the story differently than how it had actually happened. They'd cast him as the big, bad wolf come to hunt the other tributes. The three trained girls were painted as brave heroines, making a great risk to send one home. They had conveniently omitted the scenes where he lied awake for countless hours, just waiting for a tribute to strike. They'd also forgotten the scenes where he'd cared less about glory and more about simply living. He'd wanted to live more than anything else.

The outline districts' hasty judgements were unnecessary. He was quite proud of what he'd done, it was some of his best work, and it had entertained not only the Capitol, but consumers all throughout Panem. It'd be hypocritical to crucify him for only managing to survive.

He'd only done what had been demanded of him.

At least they had known their children were soon to die, were able to say their farewells, no matter how brief. He hadn't even been given that indulgence.

The black-haired teen crafted a mental to-do list, lazily tacking on the materials his escort had suggested he purchase for his talent. His team had bargained hard over it after they'd mistakenly stepped into Roe's room and fallen into a fit of tears. Everything about the Capitol only seemed more mechanical after that incident.

They'd won. He'd chosen carpentry and architectural design over military leadership.

In only a few days time, he'd finally return home. Not to the exaggerated mansion or the burnt down flat. No, he'd return to his real home: District Two West's Health and Resource Center.

* * *

_February, Section II._

"Good morning," she heard a light, cheerful voice call.

The brunette turned to her bedroom door, but was surprised to find the door was still closed. Then where was- She stifled a yawn, stretched her arms, and nestled deeper into the blankets. She'd probably just imagined his voice. When he wasn't arrogant or irritated, it was actually rather nice.

"What time is it?" she asked herself, blinking a few times. Clove doesn't have to look to the calendar to know that today was...

The blonde paused, thinking she had been speaking to him, and pulled her alarm clock from her desk, all while trying not to lose his balance, "It's about 8."

Clove turned and finally realized which direction Cato's voice was coming from, and that he wasn't an illusion her mind had conjured up. He was perched halfway between the outside of her window and the interior of her room. "How the hell did you get through my window?" she asked in disbelief.

"I borrowed your neighbor's ladder," he said casually.

She rubbed her nose as her eyes began to close once more. "Honestly, Cato," she yawned.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" she admonished, still unmoved from her spot in bed. Usually, she was up and moving quickly, but she wasn't feeling at her best and today was...

He swung his other leg over the window sill, taking her comments as permission to enter her room, and now was resting entirely in the interior of Clove's room, "I'm here to help you, cutes." She didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling.

Clove let out an exhaustive sigh and whined, "I'll train with you next Sunday."

"I'm here to help with your cold," he clarified, weighing the pros and cons of making a joke at her expense. On the one hand, amusement, on the other... her undying contempt.

"Cato, I'm sick. You don't want to make out with me. There are literally no benefits to this." she coughed, turning away from him and cozying up to her favorite knife and preparing herself to revisit the pleasantry of her dreams. She hoped he'd see his way out and allow her to rest. They earned one day off each week and each moment he remained was a second of peace she could never get back.

Cato walked over to her, pulled the heavy duvet off her, and looked at her with a mixed expression of concern and inquiry, "I'm here to cater to your ever need. Just call me Doctor Cato."

"How about Doctor 'get the hell out of my house so I can sleep'?" she replied with a glare.

Cato smirked, "I'm sticking around whether you want me to or not, babe."

She itched the palm of her forehead lightly with her knuckles and huffed, but didn't decline his offer. Following her motion, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead and quickly rescinded it, "You're definitely burning up. How many days have you been sick?"

"I don't know. When was the Year 68 showcase?"

"Clove," Cato castigated, aghast, "That was four days ago. Why the hell didn't you ask for help?"

She shot him a look that more or less read that he should already know why. Clove thought it was sickeningly sweet that he cared enough to have come over, but such a softness, even if only for her, was still a weakness. In her hands, he was putty. Then again, the feelings were entirely mutual, so they were both in trouble on that end. Still, she couldn't help admit how glad she was that he had been the first person she saw. Especially today.

Barely coherent enough for him to understand, she mumbled, "S'not like you being here is gonna make it go away any faster."

The statement was logistically true, but he couldn't further explain his motives to Clove without an unwanted reaction. She would have probably scoffed at him, or pitied him, the latter being infinitely worse. How exactly would he explain that he had taken love advice from his dead brother's record's book? That sounded pathetic for a regular person, but infinitely more so for him.

"Do you dare question my abilities?" he asked innocently.

"With such a diverse range, from 'annoying Clove' to 'making lame jokes that annoy Clove,' how I could even dream to?"

He sat on the ground with a sigh. It was the final straw. At first, he'd thought her quirky insults were just for play, but it'd been over six months and the remarks had only increased in their frequency, "I think we should break up."

Oh, Clove. She tried to be sarcastic, but ended up coughing halfway through her sentence, "I wasn't -aware we were dating."

Cato sat against her window, severely glaring at the brunette. This hadn't been the response he'd been expecting, and surprise, surprise, she'd left him emotionally shortchanged once again.

"Then whatever this is. I think we should stop. You obviously don't like me. Well, not enough to trust me, so why are we even wasting our time?" The ill girl looked at him for a minute before turning away, "That's what I thought, Clove," he said, disdain in every single syllable.

The blonde stood up, opened the window, and shot her once last glance, before climbing down the ladder and onto the gravel below him. When she was sure he was gone, Clove got up, shut the window with a slam, and returned to bed, cocooning herself protectively from the outside world. Today was... her sixteenth birthday.

* * *

_February, Section III._

Looking left towards the clock, Aniston sighed with relief. There were only five minutes left until Nero's short break. The wavy haired blonde leaned against a wall and pulled at her t-shirt distractedly, while clutching to her bag tightly. She made a slight movement, vacillating between exploring the building, or staying in place. Her decision was made for her when she heard a voice from behind her.

"Did ya' get lost, darling?"

She took in a sharp breath and turned to the unwelcome, but unfortunately familiar face. "Hi Felix. It's nice to see you."

"Those boys would rip you to shreds."

Aniston's blue-green eyes clouded with worry and she asked, "I'm sorry?"

"You remember Clove Holloway?"

"Nero's cousin," the fair-skinned girl returned, thinking to the few times they'd been in the same vicinity. Sometimes in the Annex, but mostly during lunch period at school. Aniston hadn't spoken to her much, seeing as Clove was a sophomore and she was a senior, and seeing as how their interests... differed.

"You'd do well never to address her as so ever again. I knew em both six years before big K spilled the beans," he said in a naturally flirtatious tone. It made the blonde very uncomfortable, "Girl is 5'4 and about 120 pounds. Tiny little thing compared to even some of the other girls and she's a beast. Now imagine what the guys who stand at 6 feet and double her weight can do."

Aniston tucked a few of her waves behind her right ear and spoke thoughtfully, "She wouldn't bother me, though. Clove is Nero's cousin. He cares for her."

"Maybe, but Little H could kill him without a second thought."

At that remark, Aniston looked troubled, "That's simply awful."

Felix resisted the urge to tear every last strand out of her prim and proper little head, instead responding, "She wouldn't though. Has some fucked up family fetish." He rolled his eyes, "Treats her sister like a baby bird. That little number could enter the games and probably slaughter a good three quarters of the other tributes and Clove still looms over her like a dark cloud."

"It's sweet how much they care so much for each other."

"Don't be so naive," he spat, maliciously, flirtatiously.

"I don't understand why you hate me. We both care about Nero. We're on the same team and-" she began desperately.

He released a contemptuous laugh and said smoothly, "We're nowhere near in the same league, darling. I've been his best friend for ten years, and you're a lousy little fuck toy. You're only around as long as he wants you, and then you'll be neatly disposed of." She swallowed, and looked up defiantly into his brown eyes as he asked, "Did you see how I took care of District Four?"

Aniston's breathing increased, and it was clear from her reaction that she had indeed seen the dark-haired teen's acts against the spitfire from Four. When he prompted her further for an answer, she only quivered out a broken "Y-ye. Yes."

"And that's someone I liked. Now imagine what I could do to someone I don't," he said in the same suggestively lethal tone.

Her stomach knotted, and she wondered why she had come to this place in the first place. It'd always made her uncomfortable before and now, she was scared to even take a single step, "Please-"

"Do you doubt me?"

"Not even for a second," she said quickly, honestly, avoiding his glance.

He smirked, tipping up her chin, "Good. You're smart. I like you." Aniston's eyes were full of tears, and with a menacing smile, he added, "We're going to be very good friends."

* * *

**AN** - Despite how much I love them, the boys + Clove are all terrible people. I think they tend to come off a little soft, because they only interact with each other and they're already so fond of one another that it doesn't really reflect who they are to everyone else. In Felix's mind, he's protecting Nero, but let's be honest, Felix is a possessive little bitch. Trouble in paradise for Clato, too. Goodie. My goal is to have the reaping in two or so chapters, as I build up to it.

A recap of the family situations:  
Cato - divorced parents. step-mother. younger half-brother (**b**. 70). older brother (**b**. 50) died in the 69th hunger games.  
Clove - deceased mother (y. 70), widowed father, younger sister (**b**. 61)  
Dicey - single mother, disappeared dad, younger brother (**b**. 59) and younger sister (**b**. 60)  
Felix - deceased parents (y. 66), deceased older sister (**b**. 50), and niece (b. 68) died y. 73.  
Nero - widow mother, deceased father (y. 56)

Please review :3


	24. The Iron Heart

It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

-Albus Dumbledore

* * *

**Recap** / Dicey revealed to Cato that he knew of his and Clove's romantic involvement. Felix went on his victory tour and wasn't too well-received, having been called ghastly and lethargic by observers. His prep team urged him to pick carpentry and architectural design as his talent, and after consideration, succumbed to their wishes. Clove fell ill and Doctor Cato showed up to play caretaker. When the nasty-tempered brunette asked him why he'd come to help her, he hesitated, unable to tell her he'd been taking advice from his brother's journal. When Clove made one joke too many at his expense, Cato decided to cut off their 'relationship.' Nero's girlfriend came to visit him during training and had the displeasure of conversing with Felix, who'd gained a lot of his footing in the months on tour. He even explicitly told the blonde she was to stay with Nero until he grew tired of her.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 74 - February, Section IV._

Clove stalked forward determinedly. Today, she would make things right. It'd been ten days. Ten days too many. She was beginning to doubt if she could do this, but she smiled to herself, imagining his expression, and that brightened her demeanor considerably. He needed to know how she felt, and today, she'd finally tell him without the jokes, filters, or redirects.

She took a deep breath and cleared her mind before stalking up the three familiar faces. Cato stood front and center, with Dicey to his left and Nero to his right. The auburn-haired teen grinned at her, "Afternoon, Clo."

Normally, she would have given him a small smile or a gentle jab in return, but his comment had cut off her thinking. Suddenly, all of her fear circulated into her stomach and she wanted to do nothing but run in the opposite direction as fast as she could. Looking up, she directed her eyes to Cato's and said resolutely, "I need to talk to you."

The oldest of the trio, Nero, made a movement to leave, but Cato pulled him back without breaking eye contact, "Anything you want to say, you can say in front of all of us."

Clove looked at him with unease, "Cato-"

"Take it or leave it," he said, crossing his arms.

With a mixed expression of nervous bravery, she started quietly, unsure where to begin. The speech she had prepared had sounded better in her head and now she couldn't remember anything she'd wanted to say. So she hit him where it really hurt, his ego.

"When you entered candidacy two years early , it was unexpected. When Fix went into training, it was almost a natural presumption. He was the best student for five years, without losing his place even once. But you, you had to really work for it. You went from #21 in 68 to #9 in 71, and by 73, you were so good they picked you to represent the entire region. I-"

"Fascinating," Cato interrupted, bored. Dicey grit his teeth uncomfortably.

Clove changed her approach, this time being a bit more direct.

"Cato, I-i. Look, you have this energy that just cannot be contained. In every thing you do, you give it 100% Everyone knows you're a good fighter. N-no one doubts that, but they don't know just how brilliant you are." She flushed lightly, "My-my-my," she bit her lip to stop herself from rambling, "heart, it always skips a beat when-when I catch you in the lounge reading a book or in the hallways, just teaching my sister the newest move set, and I'm-"

Clove took a deep breath, now shaking, but resolve unwavering, "It scares me how much I like you! That's why I keep you at arm's length, because I'm terrified that I'll fuck it up. I mean, I already did, but- When I see you smile, I feel like anything is possible. When I'm around you, all my thoughts are irrational and I- You make me happy. You make me want to work harder. When you left, I realized just how much I needed you. I hated myself for pushing you away, for being so stubborn. You were the first friend I ever had and probably the first person that I ever really cared about, and I do trust you. I trust you a lot, and-"

Dicey was smiling the sincerest smile she'd ever seen and Nero was giving her an encouraging grin, and she knew she'd soon become the butt of some joke, but right now she didn't care. Hesitantly, she looked at the blonde's reaction.

Cato stood impassively.

"S-say something," she pleaded quietly, adding, "Please."

He remained in place, "There's not much to say." His tone was steely and mechanical.

"Right-" she let out a disappointed breath, her heart sinking, "right. okay." Clove's posture slunk slightly, and she turned away from him, walking away as quickly as she could without outright running away.

When she was out of sight, Dicey and Nero turned to him with matching horrified expressions. "What the fuck was that?" Dicey demanded.

"You are beyond help, Cato. Entirely beyond it," Nero added with a disgusted scoff.

"Mind your own fucking business. If you really cared about Clove, you would have stopped this before it started," and turned to Dicey, "And you, you have no right to judge me from where you stand, so back off."

Dicey's cheeks reddened with anger and he took several heavy breaths that did nothing to calm him down. Finally, he said, coolly, "I hope you think real hard about what you just did."

* * *

_March_

It'd been a mistake to go through his brother's old records book. When he'd first snatched the book from the spot where he'd last hidden it, he had done so because he so desperately needed someone to talk to.

By its very nature, candidacy training was done in pairs, but it might as well have been done alone, because Adie Fox was a bitter and deeply troubled individual. Ruthless and brutal in her own manner, he didn't believe for a minute that she'd refrain from commentary and that's not at all what he wanted.

It wasn't so much the physical presence of being alone that affected him. He had Dicey, Nero, even Felix had begun making semi-regular appearances. Instead, it was more so that he felt like he could no longer relate to anyone. The brunt of his training was done with Adie or on his own, and he'd sooner saw off his own hand before talking to Felix about it.

Cato had no idea what can of worms he'd opened by daring to leaf through the book. To his great fortune, this time around, none of the content left him in a state of tears. Embarrassingly, though, he'd been moved by the romantic tension between his brother and his boyfriend Ryden. Instead of being disgusted by the words, he'd understood.

Mars had been cautious in scripting his sentiments, and despite his candidacy training, still doted on Ryden, though to a lesser extent. In his youth, Cato had heard several of the remarks his mother had made about Mars' sexuality, but he'd never known just how many damaging things she'd said. Most of her epithets were littered throughout the pages and they'd affected Cato as much as they must have affected his brother back then.

All throughout his childhood, Mars had always worked to ensure that he treated their mother with respect. As he breezed through the earliest anecdotes, he understood why. The dirty blonde woman had inflicted terrible wounds upon him, for any reason and for no reason. For being gay, for being shorter than his peers, even for having chosen the battle axe as his weapon.

The younger blonde had always thought Mars had changed preferred weapons because he himself had changed, but no, his mother had forced his hand and commanded him to wield a 'stronger weapon'. It was disappointing too, because Cato had mostly picked the sword as his weapon to impress Mars and his brother had never really liked them to begin with.

He saw the lapses in judgements that inked the pages too.

Towards the end, his brother had become irrational and intense. He'd been jealous, compulsive, paranoid, and even had an intensive mean streak with his cohort mates. It was interesting to see the outgoing, but cautious and wary preteen develop into an obsessed, demanding tribute. In his brother's last year, they'd grown apart, and as he read through the pages, he suddenly remembered why. He suddenly recalled his brother's abruptness, stoic and tight attitude.

Cato had been weak, then, though.

On his very own first day of candidacy, the trainers had worn matching, knowing smirks. They'd recognized him. Said they'd know the cornsilk blonde, with indomitable, but careful eyes anywhere. The duo had looked down at him with a condescending expression and cackled that they only hoped he had no one to hold him back like he and Ryden had held Mars back.

Within three seconds, several faces had come to mind, but he'd waved away the thought. Dicey, Clove, Nero, and Nelly, they had only empowered him. They did not hold him back. It'd become a mantra that he'd repeated to himself every day, because he couldn't afford to lose them again.

He'd made this mistake before, years earlier, and he didn't dream of letting two half-wits who hadn't even been in their own games dictate how he chose to live his life.

The only thing that could hold him back was hesitating, and consequently losing his opportunity, his pray, his bounty. And for Cato Elroy that wasn't a problem, because he'd never hesitate to give someone exactly what they deserved.

They'd begun his descent into madness, gorging him with food, and strengthening him up. They'd served him two servings of steak each day, required him to do longer, more intensive weight-lifting sessions, and had even forced him to engage in maddening rituals: bathing in blood, locking him an empty room with no human contact for 72 hours, and even giving him hallucinogenic drugs that left him in a psychosis where he'd been eaten alive by rats.

He supposed he was different from his older brother. He'd stayed sane afterwards, kept himself rooted in the earth, and hadn't yet wasted away into nothingness. He hadn't let his attachments overtake him. Cato knew that Dicey, Clove, Nero, and Nelly were his and his alone. And Clove especially, she'd have to wait. When he returned, he'd take what had always been his, and she'd never dare speak out against him ever again. Together, they'd be unbeatable.

* * *

_April, Section I.  
_

For the first time in his life, Callan Wilder did not have a shadow. A long-haired, blonde, adoring shadow. He'd finally broken out of Halle Wilder's hold. They'd been called many things before: Siamese twins, an indomitable duo, a fitted puzzle piece. He loved his sister. In District Two, siblings were the only thing one usually had by default. Only children were for widows and divorcees. It couldn't be assumed that you had food, or a father, or even a chance of survival.

Callan understood, because he rarely had enough food and didn't know his father, and his chances of survival depended entirely on how he played the odds.

He had a discerning eye, though, inherited from Dicey, and a persistent outlook instilled by his mother. Good, he'd need both.

* * *

_April, Section II.  
_

"Since when do you train on Sundays?" Clove asked, standing in the doorway of the Holloway compound in her pajamas.

Dicey shrugged, dressed in casual gym attire, "I started to go on runs with Callan, but he ditched me, and as my best friend, it's your duty to take his place."

Clove pulled him into her house, closed the door behind them, and set him down on the couch. With a smirk, she trailed up the stairs, "I'll be down in two minutes. I hope you've been working hard, Wilder."

He waited patiently... for about fifteen seconds. Then, began moving throughout her family room, scanning over anything he could before finding the Holloway award case. Hanging inside were numerous medals, trophies, and plaques. Clove had an award for 1st place in knife throwing, clustered next to several others of the same kind. One for each year since 67. Clove's sister had her fair share too. A few for close combat, two for bladed weaponry, and the newest for strategy. Clove had the same medal, though it was much bigger.

Nailed on the wall beside the award's case was a large, black plaque. Dicey would recognize the engraved symbol anywhere. Mr. Holloway was a leading military strategist for District Two, and though he'd only met the man twice, the auburn-haired teen knew he was not one to be reckoned with. He was like Clove in that regard.

Mrs. Holloway, on the other hand, he'd met several times throughout the early years of his and Clove's friendship. She had been a stern, even-tempered woman, who had been protective of her daughters, arguably to the point of being over-protective. When she'd passed on, Clove had hidden herself from the world as if afraid she'd too perish when she left the house.

After a few days, Dicey had come to entice her out of hiding, and she'd turned into a sobbing mess in his arms. He had been young then, only thirteen, and hadn't had a clue what to do with her. He'd seen her cry before, but only out of frustration, and this had affected him on a deeper level. So he'd remained in place, only holding her.

They'd made their first of many mistakes that day, though he'd been too excited to care at the time.

It was only in retrospect that he began to understand how special their first intertwining had been, even despite the uncomfortable and guilt-ridden context it'd occurred in. During the first of their many 'mistakes', Dicey had seen her emotionally raw, vulnerable, and sweet. Clove has a great capacity to love, and in her own manner, she did. Intensely.

"Let's go." Clove said with a challenging smirk, the familiar stopwatch in her hands, and Dicey nodded.

"I know the perfect place to begin," he said, innocently.

She told him, cockily, "Then you better hope you're a faster runner than I am." They locked the door behind them, and Dicey picked up a steady pace heading right.

Clove followed him, watching as the sturdy trees' leaves waved gently with the wind. Clouds loomed overhead, though not dark enough to be even vaguely threatening. The rocks, some small, others not as much, and sand were familiar beneath the soles of her shoes. The cacti were prickly, the flora selection small, consisting of a western variety of birds of paradise, and tree flowers.

The only fruit that grew in abundance were varying types of citrus. In the autumn, she, Dicey, and Cato walked along the city line, and would pick a few for the road home. The coy blonde enjoyed salted grapefruits, and Clove had always wondered how he'd kept his teeth from falling out. He could be difficult to please, but his smile was always worth it.

As they turned a corner, she stopped, and stared into the expanse before her. The quarry had been abandoned for the weekend as employees returned to their families, and she wondered briefly what it must have been like to never have enough, to always been in desperate need.

Years ago, Dicey had told her that when he'd still been quite young, his mother had to choose each night which two children would eat. When she'd chosen Callan and Halle once, he'd thrown a fit and screamed that she was the worst mother in the world. Only when he'd heard her crying herself to sleep had he understood that no parent wants to make that sort of choice. He'd crawled into bed beside his mother and told her that he was sorry for being bad. She'd cried even harder after that.

"Looking for a part time job?" Dicey teased, coming back towards her.

"Do you hate her?" she asked, thoughtfully, unmoving from her spot on the dirt path.

He frowned, "Who?"

"Nero's girlfriend."

"I don't know. You can't really control the family you're born into. The quarries might be a death sentence, but I try not to hold it against someone who's only doing all they've ever known. Now, come on." He yanked her arm, looking blatantly at her, "You're slowing down my run!"

As they resumed their previous pace, Clove's thoughts trailed to other matters. She thought about the outline districts, sectors where volunteers were uncommon, and where the desperately poor took out tessara with the knowledge that they had a slim chance of returning home should they be reaped.

She had watched enough games to understand that the 'career' districts, as they'd been referred to a few times, were not exactly popular among audiences in the other districts. Clove couldn't understand why that was, why they'd hold a grudge against a district where tessera was taken freely, twelve year olds never entered the games, and one was given the opportunity to train for glory or trade entirely free of charge.

"River Mountain Park?" Clove asked him, as they made their way onto the familiar grasslands. Their beginnings had been there, in a torrential downpour, Dicey in tears, her in an unsteady confusion.

He looked to her with a quirky smile, "It's where I come to run away from all my problems."

"Well, at least you're good at that," she told him, her expression serious as she recalled the distressed Dicey of so many years ago.

"It takes too much effort to be good at everything," he grinned, derisively pushing at her shoulder. That woke her out of her stupor.

"And yet I still manage," Clove said, with a playful smirk.

Dicey laughed, kneeling down, "Hop on. I've got something to show you."

Clove obliged, jumping onto his back, and stifling her giggles as Dicey zoomed through the grass. When they passed the public washrooms, he warned her to be quiet and she agreed, though not without several questions of her own.

"Look," he said quietly, gesturing his head to the right. Her eyes bugged out. Fourteen year old Callan and twelve year old Magnilda were resting on a familiar blanket, a basket of food between them, eating and chatting happily. She was wearing a yellow summer dress and had somehow curled her hair, while he was in a pair of jeans and blue polo tee. They were overdressed. At least, overdressed for them.

"Are they-" Clove asked, her mouth hanging open.

Dicey chuckled, "Want to have some fun?"

With a sneaky smile, she inquired, "What were you thinking?"

He paused, his eyes scanning the park, until he found exactly what he was looking for. Smirking, he galloped back towards the washroom. Clove jumped off his back and snatched the cleaning supplies basket from its corner, removing various chemical bottles and sponges. The pair went to the back of the of the building and tipped a hose into the bucket, filling it with as much water as they could.

When they emerged from behind the building, their expressions were of pure gold. Callan had come over to Magnilda's side of the blanket and was cuddling up to her. It was so perfect that Dicey was convinced the gods had set it up themselves.

At first, the brown-haired duo were simply blathering on excitedly. There was no hand-holding, hugging, or horseplay. But as Callan inched closer to her sister, Clove and Dicey sped up, carrying the bucket as quickly as possible without being loud or wasting any of its contents. In its own right, their prank had been a discretionary drill.

Magnilda stretched her arms and then threw some bread crumbs to the black crows, who swooped in and flew off in only a few seconds. Callan grinned at her, leaning forward, and then-

"What was that?" Callan sputtered, turning wildly.

Magnilda wiped the water out of her face, rubbing at her eyes, and wincing. Callan let out a hacking cough, shivering. He instantly released a feral scowl at the familiar face, or should he say, familiar faces.

Clove and Dicey had fallen to the grass, laughing hysterically at the young couple's faces. Callan looked furious, and Magnilda was about three different shades of red, about ready to cry, "What are you two doing here!" he demanded.

The brunette tried to answered, but was giggling so hard, she couldn't form complete sentences.

"Clove!" Magnilda screeched, lip quivering, "Why did you do that?"

She finally caught her breath, lifting Dicey's chest up into a sitting position. Clove shrugged, a satisfied grin bewitching her face, "Because we thought it would be funny, and it was."

"You ruined my first kiss!" her younger sister nearly wailed in response, and then flushed, pursing her lips, and turning to Callan, "You were going to kiss me, right?"

He laughed at the question, tipped up her chin, and kissed her sweetly, "Does that answer your question?"

Magnilda beamed, and then modified her demeanor, and huffed at the older teens, "Why are you here?" she asked, with a childish glare.

"You said you were going to Halle's," Clove admonished, wondering if she looked as non-threatening as girl before her. Lightly, she asked, "Since when do we keep secrets?" Dicey and Callan snorted synonymously.

"I did go to Halle's!" Magnilda shot back, growing more upset by the second. She ran her hand through her sopping wet hair, pouting to herself.

Dicey chuckled, "You're getting technical there, Nelly."

"You're too young to date," Clove added, hitting the auburn-haired boy for encouraging the duo. He should have told her the point to their excursion from the get-go.

Callan grumbled a few choices sentiments, and when Clove prompted him to repeat them, he muttered lowly, "I remember when you and Dicey were twelve."

The older teens instantly froze. They'd rarely discussed those days without a heavy dose of sarcasm and irony. This was the last scenario they'd want to bring up those memories from their old holds. Magnilda blinked, confused, "Wait, what happened when Clove was twelve?"

"Dicey and Clove-" he stopped at Clove's threatening glare, "_dated _when they were about your age."

Dicey gave his younger brother a warning expression, "Yeah, and we regretted it. A lot. You two better not get into messes. We literally can't afford it, Callan." He exaggerated the last sentence to his younger brother, and the dark-haired boy straightened up.

"Don't worry about me," Magnilda said with a huge smile on her face, "I'm a cheap date!"

The auburn-haired teen began cackling his head off, unable to respond to that sentiment, and Clove hit him again, commanding him, "Cut it out."

Magnilda looked at them, confused, "It's just a date, Loey'. If you didn't like dating Dicey, why did you do it so long?" Callan grinned in response, looking an awful lot like his older brother.

"Yeah, you two. Why did you go on so many _dates_?" he added with a suggestive wink.

Clove stood up, done with the visit down memory lane. Giving the younger teens a severe look, she warned, "Magnilda G. Holloway, if you get pregnant, Callan will kill you. That's Wilder family policy. Isn't that right, Dicey?"

Dicey nodded, suddenly looking a lot less amused and more sick to his stomach. He stood up, giving Callan a similar expression of his own, as Clove remarked:

"And if he doesn't kill you, I certainly will. You make one mistake, Callan, and you'll find I can do more with knives than throw them. Do you understand me?"

The couple nodded solemnly, a metallic taste filling their mouths, and a black cloud overhead.

* * *

**AN** - Do not kill me for keeping Clove and Cato apart. Their separation is serving a purpose, I promise. Also, if you were bothered by the end of Cato's tangent, then you had the correct emotional response. I've seen too many fanfics where severe possessive behavior is supposed to be romantic, when it's not at all. It's unhealthy, dangerous, and threatening.

Please review :3


	25. The Crucifixion

No matter how far you run, your brain stays in the same place.

- Anonymous

* * *

**Recap /** Clove tried to make amends with Cato, but he blew her off. He continued to read through Mars' journal and found that his brother might have been the wrong person to idolize, as he'd become paranoid, cruel, and possessive towards the end of candidacy training. It was also revealed that candidacy training involved prolonged solitary confinement, bathing in blood, and hallucinogenic drugs, as Cato began his descent into madness. Dicey came to visit Clove and had asked her to go running. She pondered several things while on her run, including the quarries, living conditions, and the outline districts. Their run ended in River Mountain Park, where the two had first became friends, and Dicey revealed his true intentions, as their younger siblings Callan and Magnilda were on a date together. The mischievous duo ended dumping a bucket all over the pair right as they went into their first kiss.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 74 - April, Section III_

"Dicey?" a quiet voice piqued from the wooden door frame.

He looked towards the sound, forcing a smile onto his face, "You missed an adventure today, Hal."

Halle stayed in place, hesitating. He was stalling, and she didn't want to coax him into an unwilling discussion without his consent, but there were things that needed to be said. "Can I talk to you?"

Dicey nodded, less than enthusiastic, and patted the spot beside him on the bed, "Yeah, sure. Close the door."

She stepped forward, briskly pulling the door behind her, and sat down. All the things she wanted to say seemed insufficient, not enough to absolve her of her sins against him. Halle grabbed Dicey's arm, and leaned against it, hoping to leech some of his strength. He had always been her rock, and she felt he had paid too steep a price.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a desperate sorrow underlining his words, but subtle enough that one could mistake it for irritation or tiredness.

"It's my fault you had to kill her. If I hadn't ruined everything, you wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place." It all came out very quickly, as if she was afraid to hear his response. Halle didn't even want to explain how she'd found out about the whole thing to begin with.

With a morbid sort of crudeness, he laughed, "Nah. I wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place if I hadn't fucked her without asking questions."

"Would have killed the mood," Halle teased with a wink.

"Halle Wilder, you don't know anything about sex," He chastised humorously.

She giggled, "Maybe."

"Halle Wilder, you don't know anything about sex," he said, this time seriously.

She leaned against him again, nestling into the crook of his back, and wrapping her arms around him, "Only because you've protected me. I just wish... I just wish someone was protecting you."

Dicey's first instinct was to agree. Though it took only a few seconds for him to realize how pathetic such a thought was. He was among the best in his cohort, and was quite capable of handling anything that came his way. He shouldn't need anyone to protect him, and yet... "I knew what I was doing and I stand by my decision, but all these messed up thoughts won't give me a minute to breathe, or think."

Such a small admission seemed to lessen the emotional burden and he exhaled in relief.

"I keep wondering if it would have been a boy or a girl. If they'd have had my hair. I'd always been picked on for it, but I never really minded, and..."

Halle kept listening, working to steady her breathing.

"I could have used you as an excuse, but it was more than that. I'm used to having people depend on me. I kinda like it too. But, if I'd had a sprout of my own I would have only had Ashleigh. I kept thinking what if I became like dad? I'm fucking terrible at biology, but half of my DNA is his and that means half of me is fucked up, irresponsible, selfish. Hell, the way I've been acting the last few years, I'm pretty sure all of me is."

Her eyes glistened with tears, and she squeezed him tighter.

"I told her I couldn't do it. I was almost to the point of begging. Kid would have been better off without me, but she was so determined. So I got rid of her, got rid of _it_," the heartbroken look in his eyes hurt her. Halle had to bite her tongue to stop a sob.

He gazed off into the distance, "I've killed 123 people. 125, now, I guess. Not exactly anything new to me, but this was different. I could have had a kid. After it was all said and done, I told myself that I'd be more careful. I really thought that that would make me feel better, but it didn't."

The blonde clutched to him tightly, and he smiled, briefly, sadly, and removed a strand of hair from her eyes, "One day, when I do have a little sprout, I'll be the best damn father in this place. Not just for them, but for this little one too. I'll make it up to him."

Halle sifted through his words, and gently, she whispered, "You're nothing like him, Dicey. Nothing like him at all." He buried his face into her shoulder, and his chest began to heave, a dry lump in his throat.

* * *

_April, Section IV - Cato's perspective  
_

Adie Fox combed through her notes, scribbling furiously. Every few minutes, she'd look down too far, and what Cato had originally thought were only reading glasses would slide off her face and onto the limousine carpet. In reality, she needed eyeglasses all the time, for images both near and far. He discovered that for several years, she had forced herself to train without them to avoid stigma. Begrudgingly, that had earned her an ounce of goodwill.

Today, he'd ascend to a higher plane of living. He'd transcend his limits, and take another step towards attaining the highest honor one could.

Perhaps carelessly, Cato had decided to give his attention to the moving scenery outside of his window instead of to his work. Two East was different, he'd ascertained. Less abrasive, more artificial, modern, and plenty wealthier. He'd yet to see an unpaved road, and there were less single households and more compressed living quarters. Adie had called them apartments.

Instead of a single city center, the region was comprised of several markets of all sorts of different trades. The buildings had been plastered with pasty stucco, the climate remained warm, and one couldn't travel more than a single block without encountering palm trees, walkways, and crispy, dry air. In other words, it was another cover for the same book.

The tournament he was to attend rotated locales each year, with each region competing for the potential lucrative gains to be made from hosting the event. He'd been only once before. In 69, when his brother had vied for the title. That had been in Two North.

"Do you really think reading that nonsense will help you win, Fox?" he asked, watching the unfathomably high skyscrapers with awe as they drove closer to the facility.

She ignored him, leafing through her books even faster. _Now, she decides to be quiet, _he quipped annoyed. Their coaches sat silently, enjoying glasses of wine with smug expressions on their face. To them, it was just dinner and show. Either way, they still got paid.

He could have been nervous like Adie, but that would have been counterproductive. You were either ready or you weren't, and any last minute studying wasn't going to make you stronger, or quicker, or even smarter. The ring was pure adrenaline, strategy to the wayside. In such an environment, he thrived.

"When I win, I think I'll come back here. Maybe take a dip in their concrete lakes," he said to no one in particular.

"They're called pools. Do you even know how to swim?" she asked, looking at him for the first time in nearly an hour.

Cato growled at her, "So what if I don't?"

The long-haired girl sighed, returning to her materials with a shake of the head. "It's not that big a deal, Elroy. Try to relax."

If he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was being kind. Adie Fox wasn't kind, though, and it was a big deal. He knew that when the game makers found weaknesses among the strongest tributes, they liked to level the playing field, to tip the scales. In an arena like the one Annie Cresta had won in, he'd have surely been lost at sea, and some other tribute, maybe a untalented fisherman from four, would have probably won.

"You picked a talent yet?" one of his coaches jibed.

He had, long ago. He'd only told Clove. She'd smirked, playful telling him it was a good choice. A good choice for _someone like him_. He wondered now if that had been meant to insult him. Cato could never be sure. Though, truthfully, he didn't mind a challenge and that's exactly what his Clove had always been.

"Who cares about that shit? I'll be too busy to care about flower arranging or modeling."

Those were the respective talents for Annie Cresta and Finnick Odair, resident District Four scum. Odair in particular, as he'd mentored Dylan Sanders personally.

"Feisty one, we've got here," the younger of the coaches said to the other, with devilish smirk on his face.

"Arrogance is unbecoming, Elroy," the older woman added.

Adie snorted, and he grinned slightly. They'd shared few pleasant conversations, but one thing they had in common was a mutual loathing for their coaches. Still, there was no sense of camaraderie between the two. He didn't doubt for a second that Fox would have joined the strategic attack against Felix had she been a contender in the previous game. She was a slippery little snake, easing its way along the playing field, and the minute the alliance disbanded, she'd be his to kill.

The previous year's tournament had been hosted in Two West. Though, among their close-knit group, only Clove and Nero had attended.

As they pulled up to the stadium, his eyes roamed to the day-lit neon sign. They'd arrived at Dansey-Morgan Field. The amount of people in the condensed area was overwhelming on its own, but as he stepped out of the limousine, their cheers only heightened his senses. Adie was entirely nonplussed, adorning a discreet pair of ear plugs. Why hadn't he thought of that?

The coaches lead the way, and the pair were swiftly swept away into a medical office located within the stadium. There, the doctors recorded height, weight, body fat percentage, cholesterol, insulin levels, even blood type. Adie had tried to bait him with that one, "O+, Elroy? You really are just like everyone else."

He didn't bother dignifying that comment with a response, but reveled in the knowledge that she was O-, which meant she would be screwed if she got hurt before the reapings. It'd be everything she deserved, he thought.

When they were done, a representative dressed in a tie and suit, and quite attached to his electronic device, began leading them towards the stadium. "Miss Fox, you'll go first, against the candidate from Two North."

Adie asked for her competitor's name, but their representative answered so quickly neither of them could understand what the upright man had said. As they walked down the long hallway, Cato almost wanted to laugh at the way the Eastern folk styled themselves. Hardly anyone bothered with discretion. The girls wore cropped t-shirts and barely there denim shorts, while the boys were all in muscle tees, each and every one of them, even if they didn't have any muscle in the first place.

One of the observers, a long-haired redhead, stopped him, and gushed, "I hope you win, Cato Elroy!"

He shot her a dazzling smirk, before continuing behind Adie and their representative. Adie rolled her eyes at the display, "Jealous, Fox?" he asked her cockily.

"Of you? I think we settled that possibility a long time ago."

Cato's smirk only widened, "Smile, then, you frigid bitch. Today's the best day of your life."

* * *

_April, Section V - Clove's perspective  
_

The ride over had been abysmally uncomfortable and her only saving grace had been that once they'd arrived, Felix had been asked to sit in the front row. He had bid her and Dicey a dismissive farewell, before reminding Clove that she owed him a favor. He was the last person she wanted to owe anything, but being here was essential. Nero had set up a meeting spot for them and then hastily left to join Felix in the front row.

Last year, she'd had nothing to lose. If Felix had lost, she probably would have laughed. He'd have deserved it, the rat bastard. This year, there was more at stake. To her fortune, or maybe her misfortune, (she wasn't sure which) Cato had won his first round.

The rules were simple, or so the commentator had said: Last one standing won their round. But, there was a catch. The only weapon allowed in the ring were one's own two hands.

The candidate from Two South had been smart, agile, but it was clear from how quickly he'd gone down that he wasn't used to losing a fight, wasn't quite used to competing against someone on his own level. Cato, on the other hand, had lost several throughout his life. It had shamed him then, but inevitably shaped him into a quicker healer, making him more durable and resilient than the dark haired teen that lied on the floor, holding his knee in complete and bitter agony.

It had only taken Cato twelve minutes from start until finish. A terribly unsatisfying fight, in Clove's opinion. Dicey had given her grief for complaining when Cato's life was at stake, but she didn't miss the expression of boredom on his face either.

With a nightmare-inducing smirk, Cato made a final uppercut punch to the other candidate's throat, instantly shattering his vertebrae. The hit had been fatal.

Clove had developed a long list of complaints as the coaches took Cato from the ring with hungry smirks. He was replaced by another two candidates, both carrying themselves arrogantly, snorting at the medic's attempts to clean up the leftover blood and swiftly remove the deceased candidate from his final resting place on the mat. As the match between the candidates from Two North and Two East began, Clove inconsolably hoped that whoever won this round would give Cato a run for his money in the final round. Clove found to her gratification that this match had definitely satisfied her bloodlust more than the one that preceded it.

Candidates from Two South were typically the poorest, the least well-fed, and rarely made it past the first round, so it'd been expected for the blonde to have won his fight. Two East and Two North were wealthier, with East being the center of commerce and development, and North being the military hub and weapons manufacturer.

The announcer's commentary was mostly useless. He knew very little about technique, and even used the wrong terms at several points throughout the matches, but Clove appreciated the statistical information:

The candidate from Two East, Chase Van Buren, had been born November 21st, 55, and stood at 6'0 and 220 pounds. His hair was a platinum blonde color, and he was nearly as tan as Cato himself. His competitor Taurus Winchester, however, was strikingly pale in contrast. Though, to his luck, was inordinately tall at 6'5, and weighed 245 pounds. Better yet, he was born October 5th, 57, making him the youngest of the four teens contesting for the tribute spot.

Clove scanned the front row for Cato, but found the blonde was nowhere to be found. That level of blind arrogance infuriated her, and Dicey had to steady her shoulder to calm her down.

The fight between the candidates went on for twenty-nine minutes, and towards the end, the fight had been extremely close, but Van Buren had won, and would be Cato's final competitor. "Feeling better yet, Clo?" Dicey asked, bemused.

"Cato is going to eat that pretty boy for dinner," Clove predicted.

A black-haired girl stomped her foot behind her, "No, he won't! Chase is the best in our entire class," she pointed to herself, and her (in Clove's opinion) band of trashy minions beside her.

"Considering how you're dressed, I doubt you understand technique well enough to know who's the best of your class."

The girl only scowled in return, sizing up Clove, and determining her odds of defeating her in a match. Dicey glared at the row of girls, and viscerally threatened, "Fighting in the audience is against the rules. So sit down and shut up."

The girl only looked scandalized in return and Dicey rolled his eyes. A moment later, he growled, turning back to the steaming girl, and muttered, "I just saved you from a premature demise. Clove-" he pointed to the girl beside him, "knows around a several dozen hundred ways to kill you, and unless you want her to give a live demonstration, I suggest you shut the fuck up and stop kicking the back of my chair."

A second intermission took place, with more statistical data that was mostly irrelevant and only seemed jarring in contrast to the overall tone. No one gave a shit that Chase Van Buren played for his school's soccer team, or that he was voted most likely to become the next Finnick Odair. Clove found it insulting to her intelligence. Cato's face flashed on one of the screens, where it was revealed he had an 8% body fat percentage and a straight A average in all his courses.

"I cannot wait for this fight to be over," Dicey complained, glowering at the screen that taunted him. "Even here, everyone knows."

Clove gave him a half-amused expression, "You can't actually be jealous of Cato. If he really were smart, he'd trade every A for an ounce of common sense. Unless the arena is set inside of a math book, I doubt any of this will really help him much."

"Now, who sounds jealous?" Dicey joked, elbowing her.

As they brought the last contenders back into the ring, Clove was astonished to see how quickly the medics had repaired Van Buren's arms. She shook her head, thinking to herself that if they really wanted the best tribute, it would have been smarter to leave them with their wounds and see how they'd have made do, but whatever, at least the fight wouldn't be over before it started. That'd have been really miserable.

* * *

_April, Section VI  
_

If Chase wasn't nearly two years older and two inches shorter, one might have thought they nearly identical twins. He was a pretty boy, and as the screen had broadcasted, attractive enough to be the next Finnick Odair. Most of his repertoire came from the fact that the young man knew how to play a crowd. He was the ideal tribute in the same fashion as Felix had been, but he was missing something.

He was missing the most important thing:  
the viciousness needed to be a tribute.

Cato grinned, smugly licking at his teeth in delight. Chase Van Buren was about to be served to his people on a golden platter.

The audience was screeching, chanting, and took on the form of a bewildering cross between a drill sergeant and rallied up sports fan. He'd never been a fan of noise, preferring himself to a small crowd, a walk at night across the city line, or a paperback novel. Right now, though, he relished in their cheers, because they doubted him, they questioned whether he could win, and he was about to show them how much an error in judgement could really cost them.

Chase Van Buren was nothing more than a caricature. He symbolized everything Two East stood for: media attention, celebrity obsessive behavior, and devouring eyes. He seemed just as happy as the audience that surrounded him, clearly used to the undivided attention, but even that wouldn't save him.

They were given a count of three.

One_. Look, mother, what I can do. _Two_. You're at rest now, Adie. _Three_. My glory shall be a reflection of Panem, and the pride of District Two._

The first ten to twenty minutes of their fight consisted of punches, kicks, and a repetitive cycle of breaking one another's holds. It was tedious and uninteresting. They were too similar. In all regards, truly. Their builds were similar, their fighting style suspiciously close, and even their facial expressions were uncanny.

About twenty-five minutes in, an audible gasp came when Cato knocked over the heavier teen, and held him down with his right leg. When Van Buren made a gesture to break his hold, Cato grinned maliciously, and proceeded jump on top of his ribs several times before Van Buren was able to knock him away with his right arm. At around thirty-two minutes into the fight, they'd wrestled with each other, both taking heavy blows. It soon became difficult to find a spot in the ring that wasn't completely drenched in their blood, but Clove was enthralled.

Cato mocked Van Buren as the platinum blonde attempted to lift himself from the ground. With his ribs in pieces, it was too much effort for him to manage. Cato grew bored of his competitor's lack of movement, strolled over to him, and yanked him by the roots of his well-cared for hair. With a malicious smirk, he released his competitor's locks and went for his throat. In a last attempt to save himself, Van Buren knocked Cato away, and gouged his eyes with just a pair of his dirty finger nails.

Cato cried out in rage, and swung aimlessly until he found his unmoving competitor, grasping so tightly on Van Buren's throat that he asphyxiated on his own vomit before Cato could snap his neck. His gray eyes rolled to back of his head. A few of the audience members were quick to voice their dissent, but their complaints were drowned out by the cheers as the rest of the crowd went absolutely wild.

Having achieved another step in his path to glory, Cato stood up, and tried to look out towards the audience with as much resolve as he could. He was only able to manage this for but a moment before the pain became nearly unbearable and he threw his fist into the air as a last sign of victory, nearly wobbling out of the ring. The second he was out, a medic rushed to his side, and the blonde forced a smirk onto his face.

"And he lives to see another day," Dicey said, amused.

"And he lives to see another day," Clove agreed, warily.

* * *

_May  
_

If one didn't reside in District Two, they'd have thought a day like this was uncomfortable and uninvited. Despite the excessively warm temperature, it was hard for the citizens of Two to suppress their excitement. Even Clove was bubbly and cheerful, smiling as the group made their way into the square. Magnilda rested piggy back style on Callan's back, with Halle shooting them flirtatiously silly expressions.

Clove's leather cowboy boots could have almost been an homage, a tribute to the old days, their history. In her green, cotton sundress, she was as dressy as she was going to get, but Nero thought she looked great.

He and Clove had agreed to accompany _the kids _to the square, while Dicey and Felix decided to escort Cato.

She'd have never voiced the thought aloud, but Clove thought Callan and her sister were a nice pair. That didn't stop her from emotionally torturing him, though. Often, Dicey would have to pry her away, but he always did so with a laugh.

As she got into line, the scanners took a small blood sample, and she was lead away to the sixteen year old section. Nero and her parted ways, while the younger kids walked to their respective sections, debating with one another about what they wanted to do for lunch.

The mayor began his annual speech, "Welcome, welcome, District Two. Today is the day that we give glory to Panem, to show our utmost gratitude to the kindness the Capitol has bestowed upon us. Years ago, we made a caustic choice to fight against our inner nature, and betrayed our most generous caretakers, the benevolent individuals in the Capitol. Today, we repent for such actions, and strive to repay our debts, slowly but surely."

Following this, the mayor read a scribe containing the list of the past victors, all 27 of them. Beginning with Slate Adams, 3rd victor, and through the long list that clumped following the implementation of the training system in 25. During the first quarter quell, tributes were selected by public vote, and after one of their tributes won, District Two designed an entire system around the concept.

Nero tuned out most of it, having recited the list of Two victors so many times he still heard the rhythm of the mnemonic melody in his head years later.

"-Mina Carrold, 58th victor. Raul Valleo, 59th victor. Enobaria Jamison, 62nd victor. Wyatt Almoy, 63rd victor. And Felix Grey, 73rd annual victor."

The audience paid their silent respect, "And now, Malee Gold!"

Their escort strutted to the podium with an enthusiastic trill, "Oh District Two, darlings, it is so wonderful to see your beautiful faces. Now, now, it's time to select our lovely tributes for the 74th annual hunger games!"

The curly, blue haired woman stepped up towards the reaping bowl and grabbed a handful of names, before dropping all but one of them. Carefully, she opened the slip of paper, and called out, "Mortar Erickson."

A strawberry blonde stepped out of the fifteen year old section, moving swiftly towards the stage.

"Hello dear, wonderful day," Malee introduced, warmly. Mortar smiled back at her, agreeing, "And where do you reign from?"

Mortar blinked, flushing at the attention, "Two North. In the mountains, mam."

"Splendid. Any volunteers?" she asked the crowd.

In an instant, Cato flew forward, calling out, "I volunteer!"

The crowd began to holler and hoot at that, their applause overwhelming as he made his way to the stage and Mortar left to return to his section. Malee tailed her way over to him with a delighted smile, "And what is your name, darling?"

"Cato Elroy," he grunted.

"That was spectacularly brave, and what a warm crowd. District Two really does know how to enjoy themselves. Ah, well, it's time to select your tribute partner."

She returned to the reaping bowl, fishing for the right slip, and stole one from the very bottom, "And our female tribute is Clove Holloway!"

Cato smirked to himself, imagining how the games would play out if the two went into the arena together. One thing was for sure, Panem would be in for a treat. Clove snorted at the irony, trudging her way up to the stage, her boots clanking with every step.

"What a lovely tribute, and where do you call home, sweetheart?"

To her credit, Clove didn't snarl at the escort, as she would have most certainly done had anyone else called her sweetheart, but she didn't play along as nicely as Mortar, and only responded, "Two West."

Malee tried to to hide her disappointment at the lack of engagement, "Well, now, are there any volunteers?"

The crowd was silent. Pin drop silent. Cato waited for his tribute partner to step forward, but nothing happened. He knew that Dahlia was excited, but was she really so excited that she'd take this long to come forward? Such slow reflexes were a weakness and he made a note to eliminate her as soon as the alliance dissolved.

His patience quickly waned as he waited for the black-haired tribute from Two South to claim her place, but to his grave misfortune, she never did.

* * *

**AN** -

This chapter is a doozy, but I said I'd get the reaping in and I did! I know Clato fics tend to be depressing by nature, but I feel like the entire culture of District Two is weighing down on me. I'd apologize for getting so detailed about District Two stuff, but I've gotten nothing but positive feedback, so I guess you guys like it.

I just hope I never get arrested, because in developing this chapter, I literally did a Google search for "How to kill someone with your bare hands."

Please review :3


	26. The Storied Moral

The error of one moment becomes the sorrow of a whole life.

- Chinese proverb

* * *

Once, when Magnilda was maybe seven or so, she came from training with tears streaking down her heated cheeks. Her mother had given her a gentle smile and asked what was wrong, but she had just sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until her mother turned away. This had only further upset Magnilda, and the entire commute home she had kicked the back of her chair. When they had gotten out of the car, she had rushed over to her mother's side and grabbed onto her arm, demanding attention, but all her mother did was pull away and ignore her, so she started crying again, this time much louder.

A few minutes later, her father returned from base and warily asked his wife why she had been ignoring their daughter. In response, her mother had simply said that if Magnilda wanted something, she needed to ask for it. Magnilda had huffed, angry, and stomped up to her mother, grumbling that she wanted to tell her something, but her mother had only hushed her and began reciting a storied moral.

_Whenever one commits an action, makes a decision, or uses their voice, they are expelling energy. In return, they receive a reaction, and the goal, her mother had said, is to garner the most reward for the least energy exchange._

As Magnilda stood in the front row with the rest of the twelve year olds, she wondered what her mother would say now, as she cried desperately, with the knowledge that it would change nothing. Arianne was gazing at her uncomfortably, and inching away, clearly embarrassed at the spectacle she was making of herself.

The crowd was silent at first, and then several thousand eyes feasted upon her. District Two was too dignified to boo or jeer, but a synonymous thought came to mind at the sight of Magnilda's distress: Clove Holloway would not survive.

As their eyes gazed upon her, Magnilda began to play a little mind game Cato had once taught her: statistical conclusion, or as she had dubbed it "What are the odds?" The blonde, somewhat of a mathematical genius, enjoyed analyzing things in terms of numbers. So she played. What were the odds of Clove being reaped?

Well, she reasoned, in District Two, where the population is nearly one million and reaping eligible youth comprise around 20% of the overall population, there is a 1 in 200,000 chance one's name would be pulled from the bowl. Of course, this disregarded several factors, such as tessarae, cumulative slips, and plain ol' bad luck, but such calculations would have only lured her into a state of insanity faster anyways.

This game, she decided, was not very fun.

Clove stood on stage, a bored, wary sort of expression bestowed upon her face. Cato, in contrast, looked distracted, but succinctly dangerous, not even bothering to hide his displeasure at the out turn of these events.

The mayor began to read the Treaty of Treason, which Magnilda had always thought was so beautifully dictated. Though, now, in her disillusion, only sounded dry and meaningless. After the anthem played, two peacekeepers came up towards the tributes and escorted them off stage.

The crowd dispersed, muttering to themselves, and Magnilda ran past them. In the distance, she heard Callan call out to her, but she knew that nothing he would say could fix the irreparable damage that had been done.

As she pushed her way past the back entrance of the justice center, she tried to conceive exactly what she would say. Magnilda wasn't stupid, not by a long shot. She knew that Dicey and Nero would use flowery, cautious language, and try not to take sides. Why bother, though? Only one would emerge victorious, and if you couldn't be honest even in death, then you were committing a grave injustice.

It took ten agonizing minutes for all of the collective visitors to gather. On Clove's behalf was her father and aunt. Magnilda didn't recognize Cato's family, having never officially met them, but she noted a tall, regal, dirty blonde woman with stunning green eyes, a tall man with corn silk blonde hair, and a young blonde boy with blue eyes. Cato's mother didn't seem too enthused to be in the same space as Cato's father, shooting him a nasty expression, which he did his best to ignore. Dicey and Nero stood together in a corner, discussing matters in hushed whispers.

The dark-haired girl leaned against the wall, waiting impatiently as the peacekeeper beckoned the first set of visitors into the separate rooms. Their father went in first, and Cato's mother pushed past his father to be his their son's first visitor.

Her aunt came up behind her, and rubbed her right shoulder reassuringly, "It'll be fine."

Magnilda grumbled, a bit loudly, "I didn't say it wouldn't!"

She flushed when several eyes turned to her, including Cato's father, who she vaguely recognized. Maybe solely from his strong resemblance to his son. Her aunt didn't move, only giving her a sympathetic expression. It wasn't entirely out of character; After all, she was a nurse who was used to taking care of others, but her aunt couldn't possibly understand what she was going through. When Nero's father had gone into the games, she'd expected him to win. Magnilda couldn't even say that for Clove.

Cato's mother emerged first, and the peacekeeper ordered the next visitor in. His mother left the building and Cato's father entered next, leaving the young boy on his own. He grinned up at Magnilda, blushing excitedly. "My name's Oliver!"

"I'm Nelly," she replied dully.

"Cato's going to win! He's super super super strong!"

She stood aloof, "Has he taught you how to fight yet?"

"He said two-" Oliver counted on his fingers, "One, two years."

Her father emerged from the room a moment later, a solemn pride on his face. Nero stepped forward to replace him and only a minute after, Cato's father came out, and Oliver ran forward, giggling.

* * *

Cato's enthusiasm had dimmed considerably since getting ready with Dicey and Felix, though he couldn't hide a relieved sigh when his brother came into the room. "Cato! Cato!" His younger brother ran into his arms, grinning. The teen brushed him off brusquely, and kept him at an arm's length.

"Come to wish me luck, lolly?"

The small boy shook his head, biting his lip coyly, and stifling a giggle, "Nuh-uh, because you don't need it."

He chuckled, "I suppose I don't." He intertwined his fingers. Oliver tried to think of what else to say, but Cato pulled him closer, and told him a strange tone, "You're growing fast."

"I'm this many!" Oliver said in return, holding up four fingers. It was unfortunate that Cato had always had an affinity for cute things.

"You've got the makings of a champion."

The small boy jumped up, his eyes widening, "I do?"

Cato smirked, "Doubting yourself is your first mistake."

He frowned, "What's that mean?"

"It means that to be a winner, you have to act like a winner."

Oliver nodded, trying to feign understanding but failing, "Okay. One day, I'll be strong just like you."

Cato snorted, and his semi-cordial demeanor waned, "It'll take a lot of work. You'll have to tell Sundara to stop babying you. Training is sacrifice, blood, sweat, tears, and your worst nightmares come to play. It's broken arms, cracked ribs, and gaping wounds that never fully heal. It's psychosis, sickness, and unwavering resolve. The monsters your mother reads to you about, they can't compare to the monsters inside your very own head." He yanked Oliver's roughly by his wrist, making sure the boy was paying attention, and clenched tightly.

The small boy fussed, trying to break his grip, but Cato only strengthened his grasp, "Do you think you can handle that?" Oliver trembled, whimpering at the uncomfortable hold, "Well, do you?" Cato demanded. Tears welled up in Oliver's eyes, and he blinked, and they fell to the ground.

The blonde teen shook his head, disappointed, and released his brother's hand, softly muttering, "It's your worst nightmare for twelve years, but when you win... When you win, it's everything you've ever wanted and more. Do you think you can handle that?"

Oliver swallowed, terrified by the wild expression in Cato's eyes. Wiping away his tears, he retreated towards the door, and opened it slightly, "One day, when I'm big and strong, I'll do anything to get the monsters out of your head. I promise!"

Cato stalked forward and pushed his brother to the floor, and glaring. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Oliver."

The small blonde boy ran out of the room, sniffling, and Cato's father sighed. He looked sternly at Oliver, "I told you to not to aggravate him." Oliver latched onto him, crying into the hem of his shirt.

"Daddy, I want to help Cato. He said there are monsters inside of his head," he murmured sadly.

Mr. Elroy's gruffly responded, "Cato doesn't need help. He just needs to win." He picked up Oliver, and held him protectively to his chest.

His demeanor reminded Magnilda entirely too much of Mars, and that only increased her reservations, but when the peacekeeper asked if there were any more visitors, Dicey stepped forward, and took her place.

* * *

"Come to bid the corpse farewell?" Clove asked him bitterly.

Dicey gave her a pathetic smile, "Don't sell yourself short. You're Clove Holloway."

She came forward and he pulled her into his arms. She melted into the embrace, a too familiar hold. His eyes watered as it all sank in. Even if Clove did survive, Cato wouldn't. There'd be no true winner. Cato and Clove were cut from the same cloth, a fitted piece. Sure, they rarely saw eye to eye, but there was not one without the other. In his ruminations, they stood together, giving him grief and making sharp remarks at his expense. For the first time in his life, he wished they lived somewhere else. A world away from the games.

"Killing is easy, but I'm not as refined in the art as you."

His brown eyes glimmered with an unreadable expression. To make an admission like that was... unheard of, especially from her. "It was the only way for me to stay in the program. Most don't have to do what I've done. Most have the time to earn their points the hard way, the right way. I haven't had that sort of time in years."

"What's your number, then?" she asked.

He rested his hand on a chair, not exactly excited to share something so intimate, "125 overall. 48 this year."

"Impressive," she muttered, rubbing her fingers anxiously. They'd confiscated her knives, he was sure, "I'm up to 36."

"This year?" he asked surprised.

She gave him a bemused smile, "Overall, red."

Dicey pushed a buoyant, wavy strand out of her face, and distractedly played with her hair, "Be brave, Clo."

Clove pulled away and with a fierce determination, but uncharacteristic gentleness, told him, "I'm not afraid."

"If anyone can overcome insurmountable odds, it's you."

The brunette smirked, "Exactly. Don't count me out." His laugh mixed with a sob, and she couldn't help but think he was ugly crier. She gave him a displeased expression, and thrust her fist against his abdomen, "I'm not dead yet, asshole."

He pulled her back into his arms, laughing more than crying. "You've always been a fantastic little runt," he teased. He heard a knock a moment later and suppressed the urge to give the nosy peacekeepers a piece of his mind, "Give them hell."

She stood up, fixing her posture, and adjusting her green dress. Firmly, she told him, "I'm glad I've had you, Dicey."

Dicey smiled sadly, and whispered, earnestly, "Thank you for giving me a chance, Clove."

* * *

Magnilda locked the door behind her as she entered the room. Upon seeing her, Cato gave off a wary, exhaustive sort of look, and rasped. "If you're here to ask me to sacrifice myself, don't bother."

"Don't patronize me, Cato." Magnilda responded, an unkind coolness slipping into her words.

"What do you want, Magnilda?"

She stepped forward, glowering at him, "My name is Nelly."

"You're too old for nicknames," he said, dismissively, before adding, "and much too old for hair ribbons as well." He growled, yanking a teal bow out of her hair. She winced, looking back to him with a scowl as she fixed her hair into place.

Her glare intensified as he smirked at her. "Yes," she drawled, her tone laced with fury, "It looks better on you anyways, blondie."

He blinked, before chuckling, blackly, "You're no Clove."

"What the hell does that mean?" she demanded, subconsciously moving into a fighting stance. "I've never tried to be Clove, and if that's why you became my friend in the first place, then you've wasted your time."

"Of course not," Cato said, holding his head at her unusually high pitch.

"No wonder Clove doesn't want to be your friend."

He laughed, a twisted smile on his face, "No, your sister wanted us to be much more than friends."

"Yeah, so did I," Magnilda said, misery underlining her words.

That seemed to stump him. "Anything I say won't change why you're here, and that's because you want something. So spit it out."

Magnilda tried to contain herself, to hold onto what little dignity she had left, "I just want a small favor."

He arched his eyebrows, waiting for her response, "Oh, yeah? And what might that be?"

She whispered her request, quietly begging for this indulgence, and a light of recognition flashed in his eyes. He masked his pain, before lowly gritting out, "I can't make any promises." Magnilda nodded her understanding, but he added hollowly, "but _I'll try_."

* * *

**AN -**I gave District Two a population of about 1 million, with about 200k being of reaping age. One article I read theorized that Panem could sustain a population of 4 million.

I conceived the population size of Two based on a few things. The first being that District Two produces the most commodities: weapons, peacekeepers, and stone mining. The second being that in my story, I have District Two covering the land area of Arizona and Utah, and have designed Two East (Phoenix, Arizona) especially as a large, urban center. The last being that I think the the Capitol's population has to be relatively small in comparison to some of the districts, like Ten and Eleven, which I think are larger because they produce agriculture and meat for the entire country.

District Twelve is also small in terms of both land space and population, with the seam being ten minutes walking distance from the center of town, and holding an estimated population of 8000.

Please review :3


	27. The Advisers

Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory.

- Miguel de Cervantes

* * *

**If** you were gone over the weekend, make sure to read chapter 26 first.

* * *

Resilient and unyielding.  
Resilient and unyielding.  
Resilient and unyielding.

They'd prepped him, given him a pep talk to boost his morale, but he wasn't so sure it was working.

_No mercy. _Dicey._  
Do not presume loyalty. _Nero._  
No direct eye contact. _Dicey._  
Store clothing securely. _Nero._  
__Do not be wasteful. _Dicey.  
_Keep a mental checklist of surviving tributes. _Nero.

Somewhere in between all their belligerent instruction, his stomach had become knotted in an unfamiliar ache. He'd had his fair share of abdominal pains before. From injury, hunger, and even nerves, but this was distinctly foreign. Cato lost his concentration and they stared on at him, worried, theorizing that they'd overstimulated him, but he shook his head.

"Keep going," he told them, trying to regain his equilibrium.

Nero had pulled up a chair behind him and ordered him to rest, but he refused. Dicey didn't take kindly to such a response and forced him into the seat, continuing.

_Do not overexert yourself, if at all possible. _His clipped tone indicated that he meant **starting now**. _  
If you can't find water, forage for fruit or collared greens.  
If you're cold at night, use one of the backpacks from the cornucopia as a barrier of insulation between you and the ground.  
If heat becomes unmanageable, rest under a tree or seek grasslands._

Cato wondered how much of their advice would be truly useful. He'd be resting in comfortable tents, an abundance of sponsors at the heel of his requests. The camping tips were sweet, but misplaced, and right now they were grating his nerves.

"Pay attention, you idiot." Dicey quipped, hitting the side of his head, and Cato shook his head hazily.

He moaned a complaint, "I don't need any of this."

"Don't be arrogant," Nero shot in return.

"Did you waste Clove's time like this too?" the blonde asked, tiredly.

Nero and Dicey exchanged a glance, before Dicey remarked shortly, "We didn't have to. Clove already knows all of this."

"Then why are you even bothering? I'm sure she'll tell me what to do if anything happens."

His friends exchanged another glance, before eerily remarking in a castigating synchrony, "_Do not presume loyalty_."

"Clove loves me," Cato challenged them, a light of dismay in his electric blue eyes. He didn't appreciate the admonishing expressions the two were wearing, as if there was any alternative to his victory.

Nero arched a brow, sighing, "Even if that's true, you're acting like it'll mean anything. Clove's no sacrificial lamb. There's no such thing as nobility in the hunger games and she'll be vying for the top spot just as much as anyone else."

"Maybe even more so," Dicey added, "considering the state you left her in."

His ash-brown companion nodded in agreement, "I'm afraid this won't end well for either of you."

Dicey grinned, "But, hey, then the two of you can recite your vows from six feet under."

"That's not funny, asshole."

"It's kind of funny."  
"It's fucking depressing is what it is."

The amber-eyed boy sighed, "Where the hell is Felix?"

Cato snorted, "Probably rubbing one out to the fact that Clove and I will have to kill each other."

Dicey started laughing hysterically, and Nero exhaled a groan, "We don't have time for jokes now."

A knock on the door affirmed the statement and he gestured towards the sound. Cato looked at the two of them, almost wondering for a split second what if this was the last time he would ever see them. The stray thought prompted a minor bit of anxiety, and he blurted the words out without thinking.

"Thanks for helping me."

Nero gave him an encouraging half-smile, "Keep a level head, alright?"

Dicey smirked, jabbing him with his elbow, "Gotta be a little more realistic, dude. How about, 'cut em' clean?'"

"Doubting my precision? Ouch. Fuck, you're a little bastard, red," Cato joked, looking a bit put out.

Nero slapped his back, and bid him farewell and good luck. Dicey stayed for only a second longer, slinging his arm around Cato, and patting him reassuringly, "I'm really proud of you, C. You've come a long, long way, and I'm glad I've had you on my team." He gave him a small smile that reeked of covert sadness, waving him off, and closing the door behind him before Cato could think too long about what he'd just said.

* * *

At the end of their visits, the peacekeepers came to collect the tributes and lead them directly to the train station located adjacent to the square. Media reporters hounded them, flashing their cameras and buzzing loudly and incoherently. It reminded Cato of Adie, how she used ear plugs, and a sort of solemness came to mind. He blocked the gruesomeness of her death from his thoughts, and gave the reporters a chilling smirk. Clove only ignored them, acting as if they weren't worth her time. In her mind, she probably believed that, and that would be her first mistake, he thought.

As they made their way inside the train, she gawked at the outlandish luxury, but closed her mouth, and said nothing. Malee Gold, their escort, strut up to them, enthusiastically welcoming them in and giving them a quick tour.

"Now, your mentors are not quite ready to see you yet, but if you'd like, your rooms are to the right. Each are fully equipped with a shower, a dressing area, and bed chamber. I'll come back for you darlings when dinner is ready, but please be dressed by six."

The blue haired woman wandered off happily to her own compartment and Cato gave Clove a side-sweep assessment, to which she responded with a smug expression, "Nervous already?"

He scoffed at the possibility, "Why would I? There's nothing coming between me and victory."

She laughed, as if he was absurd, still looking too smug for his liking, "We'll see. Wouldn't want you to go soft."

"For what, you? As if. After all, we're just Cato and Clove," he mocked, and slammed the door in her face.

Clove took a heavy breath and retreated to the assigned bedroom. Pulling off her boots, she entered the washroom, and walked into the shower. Pressing the closest button to the door, she sat on the floor, and imagined herself to be far away, in a warm rain. It was too early in the year for rain, or maybe too late, she wasn't sure.

She began to sob, long strands of her hair sticking to her face. Clove's only comfort was that her temporary weakness was a concealed secret. She was safe, for now. The girl closed her eyes, wondering to herself if there had been any signs of their impending demise.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she thought grimly to herself that at if she did die, she'd see her mother again. Her precious, loving, resourceful mother. It was a small crack in her armor, but Clove couldn't stop herself from crying once she'd started.

In another life, it might have been comforting to be done in by a lover, and in District Two, maybe even a bit seductive, but now it only seemed heart-wrenchingly cruel.

She missed her best friend.

The boy who always came to her rescue, even when she didn't need to be rescued. Who made her laugh hysterically, and was not only stronger than anyone she knew, both emotionally and physically, but a hell of a lot smarter too. And yet, what she was most fond of, what had always compelled her to return to him, even when her better judgement said not to, was his boyish smile. Because underneath the layers they'd painted for him, Cato Elroy was just another teenage boy.

It had just been coincidence that he'd been all those other things as well.

Where had they begun? Somewhere between bagged trail mix, Ellery Watson, and flirtatious jibes, they'd been tied together, and now they were paying a heavy toll.

In her anxiety, she began to laugh, thinking of all the moments they'd had between the themselves. If she squinted her eyes, she could still pretend he cared for her, could pretend he'd kept the promise he'd failed to uphold so many times before.

It must have been an hour before she lifted herself from the muddled water, her dress green stuck to the tile, her hair slick against her cheeks and covering her eyes.

_Pull yourself together. _

The brunette peeled off the soaked dress, letting it fall to the floor, before reaching for a towel to dry herself. It was very soft, a Capitol luxury, and Clove allowed herself one more minute of weakness before standing straight and moving towards the dresser. Inside the wooden drawer were countless outfits, most too exuberant for her to even consider, but she pulled out a pair of black leather jeans and a button up, blue silk top, and told herself it was time to get to work.

* * *

Scavenging through her bedside drawers, Clove tried to find paper and something to write with, but to no avail. She nearly fell off the bed and knocked over a Capitol lamp, but caught herself at the last minute. Just as she was about to seek out Malee, she heard a knock, and moved to answer it.

When she opened the door, Clove found that it was not her peppy escort, but instead a too familiar face. She leaped forward, "You!" growling, a feral expression in her eyes, and her right hand enclosed around the raven-haired teen's throat, "This is your fault!"

Felix contemplated to himself whether that could be true or not. After all, the Capitol had already taken so much from him, why not take it a step further, but Cato thankfully quelled the guilty thought with a scoff, "He wasn't the one who pulled your name out of that bowl, or have you forgotten so quickly?"

He brushed Clove off of him, trying to be careful with her for once. He fortunately succeeded in the endeavor and made a note to tell Nero he could be gentle, "You look scared, and why may that be, Little H?"

Ignoring him, she spat at Cato, "Have fun working with the rat bastard." Then demanded of Felix, "Where is my mentor?"

"Well, well, is this my tribute?" an amused voice inquired, "You're stronger than I gave you credit for, considering the crying pipsqueak. What a tender moment, but not at all appropriate for District Two."

Clove froze, stuck in total awe of the woman before her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

The blonde teen snorted, amused, then hit her shoulder, "Athena Mansfield is talking to you." He said, as if she couldn't figure that much out for herself. Clove remained in place, and he apologized on her behalf, "You'll have to excuse her. You're sort of her idol."

"So, Mr. 73 said when he begged me to be her mentor."

Cato's eyes traveled questionably to Felix, and Clove broke out of her transfixed expression to watch him suspiciously as well.

Taking a deep breath, Clove looked at the red-haired woman, still a bit starstruck, "My name is Clove Holloway."

"Well, you're lucky I made it. Enobaria nearly came for my throat when I agreed to take her place, and well Brutus..." she smirked at Felix, "If he didn't have such a soft spot for Mr. 73, he'd have probably torn him limb from limb for even asking to substitute for him in the first place."

"And why would you want to do that?" Clove asked, eying Felix contemptuously.

Felix gave a solid smirk, regaining his momentum, "Well, I couldn't miss all the fun, now could I? And Athena seemed like just the right piece to remind you what you're fighting for, so I guess we all win."

"I don't put up with any bullshit. I may have won twenty years ago, but I've yet to lose my edge. As I'm sure you gathered from watching my games, my weapon of choice was a knife, but I survived on intelligence alone. It wasn't until the very end that I created my finest work of art, and if you're lucky, you'll give them something to remember you by too, but that's all in due time."

Clove straightened her posture, and said determinedly, "I won't disappoint."

"Good, because you've got a lot of ground to cover. We'll have to work quickly."

The tension dissolved as Malee ran in, trilling happily, "Ooh! Dinner is ready. I thought it'd be nice to catch a glimpse of the other tributes, now doesn't that sound fun?"

Felix only chuckled, flirtatiously asking, "You really love your job, don't you?"

"Well, of course! District Two has such a wonderful reputation and does so much for our precious Capitol," she gave him a pat on the back, that he subtly distanced himself from, "It is so nice to see that you've lightened up, Felix. You weren't faring so well when we returned you home post-tour."

Athena nodded, "Yes, not at all. I'm surprised you had the gall to speak up at all, kid."

"I've certainly come full circle, but let's focus less on me and more on our prized tributes. Malee, may I request note taking materials? We'd like to start strategizing right away," he said to the escort, with a dazzling smile.

Malee smiled agreeably, and her blue curls bounced as she trailed away to fill his request.

"Isn't she like thirty-five years too old for you, Fix?" Clove asked, a grotesque expression bewitching her face.

Athena laughed, "With all of that nonsense plastered on her face, you'd never know she's barely thirty. She's really something, Miss Gold."

"Small talk's been fun and all, but I'd like to get to work," Cato grit out, looking not at all rested from the intermission. Clove nodded her assent, and her mentor gestured for her to lead the way. As they made themselves comfortable, an empty silence fell on the group, and a second later then the recap of the reapings began.

* * *

**AN** - The other day, I made the crucial mistake of going on the Ludwig tag on tumblr. Oh Christ, some of his fans are totally unhinged, and have pretty much ruined him for me. It sucks because I started blending how I look at him with how I look at Cato, and it was totally grating. Luckily, I pulled myself together and realized that while the Cato I've created is definitely an asshole, he's mostly scared of uncertainty, and has been totally fucked with by everyone meant to help him throughout his life. He's also not a playboy in the slightest, despite his raunchy humor.

Please review!


	28. The Blindness

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.  
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat. 'We're all mad here.

- Alice in Wonderland

* * *

District One was old-fashioned, traditional as far as their reaping practices went. They began with girls. In Two and Four, reapings began with boys. They were outlandish and absurd, but would probably assimilate well with the capitolites.

The first to be reaped was a mid-teens young woman with luxurious, black hair. As she elegantly made her way to the stage, Cato had to stifle a snort. She was attractive, but entirely too, too overdressed for a reaping, and he wasn't sure if that was even possible. The aquamarine-haired escort asked for volunteers, and a blonde girl called out from the one of the sections towards the back. As she made her way through the crowd, the audience stared at her in utter disbelief.

When she replaced the reaped girl, who was sent back into the crowd, they burst into hysterical cheers, overwhelming even the escort who tried to look enthused. Malee gazed on with a smugness Cato hadn't thought was possible of the bubble-brained woman.

"Ah, I think they like you," the escort said to her, still trying to recover from the moment, "Introduce yourself, sweetheart."

The steaming blonde had to mask an expression of dismay, and only said sweetly, "Glimmer Maxwell."

"For the boys," the escort remarked, pulling a name from the bowl, "Marvel Sinclair."

Marvel quickly made his way towards the stage, and by the look on the crowd's face as he turned up the last stair, he wasn't interested in being replaced. He flashed the escort a winning smile, shook her hand, and waited as she asked for volunteers. When no one stepped forward, he gave the crowd a wide smile, and before he could do anything else, the tributes were escorted off stage.

Capitol commentators took this moment to insert their own assessments, which Cato ignored as he began scribbling notes onto his paper.

He stared at the paper blankly when he realized he didn't actually remember District Ones' names and stole a glance at Clove's sheet, which had cartoon doodles of the their faces, focused on their most prominent features, which she'd evidently decided were the blonde girl's heavily made up eyes, and the male tribute's curly brown mop.

In his notes, he labeled them as 'sexpot' and 'cherub'

District Two followed, with the replay showcasing Cato stalking forward, a strong, determined expression on his face. He kept a stoic repertoire throughout the reaping, only lapsing for a brief moment when no one stepped forward to claim the female tribute position. The cameras seemed to purposefully omit Magnilda crying. Clove exhaled in relief.

"You seem displeased by the turn of events."

Felix answered the underlying question in Athena's statement, "You'll have to become acquainted with that expression real quick. It's one Cato seems to always wear whenever he's thinking too much."

"And what were you thinking of?" the thirty-something asked him, trying to decide what approach to take with the tall, limber blonde.

In forced politeness, he coolly said, "I was thinking 'where the fuck is Dahlia?'"

* * *

"She's dead," Nero told him, his face closing in on the videophone monitor. He shrugged, "Or at least that's what the southern girls were saying on the way out of the square."

He clenched his teeth together, "She better hope so, because if not, she'll definitely be when I get home."

The other end was silent for a moment, before Nero asked him, quietly, nervously, "Where are you?"

"Worrying about me, Nee?"

"Not at all, because why would I worry about the part-time serial killer, and full-time bitch?"

Felix smirked, amused, "Where do you think I am, then?"

Nero sighed, "Are they okay?"

"They're..." Felix stopped for a second, looking around behind him, "acting like it's business as usual. That's just how these games work."

"Keep a close eye on them. Don't let em get disqualified before the games have even begun."

"They wouldn't risk their glory to scruff up another tribute," Felix reassured him.

"No, no, not the other tributes."

Felix frowned, "Who else is there?"

"Cato and Clove aren't exactly on the best terms right now."

"What do you mean they're not on the best terms?" Felix grit out, thinking of the various strategies they'd just ruined with that admission.

Nero shook his head warily, "They were together, for at least a short period of time, and then there was an altercation."

"That's goddamn wonderful," Felix said sarcastically, but after contemplating the thought, added, "A lot better than the alternative, though. Which is them pulling some 'in fair Verona' shit."

"You've read Romeo and Juliet?"

"You're missing the point."

A familiar redhead appeared behind Nero, remarking with a laugh, "If you wanna test your endurance, call em starcross'd lovers and see how long it takes for one of them to tear out your esophagus."

The black-haired teen leaned in forward and waved them away tiredly, "I'm off. Try not to wet yourselves while I'm gone."

* * *

**Trigger warning** - crossed boundaries

Cato now had several pages filled with mostly useless data and unkind nicknames. His notes addressed the estimated height and weight of the tributes, as well as anything for him to keep an eye out for, but that wasn't really much. **They** weren't really much.

This year's selection were a disappointingly boring bunch, in his opinion. Sure, there was cripple kid from Ten (he'd gone the creative route in nicknaming this tribute), but other than the well-built man from Eleven and the "sure to be bloodbath" volunteer from Twelve, it'd been an incredibly unsatisfying reaping.

Deciding he needed more information, more to assess his competitors on, he moved towards Clove's room, not even bothering to knock before entering her bedchambers.

Upon seeing the blonde's face, she put on a scowl, "What do you want?"

He had to give it up to Clove to make you feel like you were the lowest form of sentience just by the tone in her voice. Cato rolled his eyes, "I need to see your notes."

"No. Get out."

He stalked forward, a menacing look on his face, and grabbed her throwing wrist, demanding, "Is this about me refusing to fuck you? Because I'd be happy to oblige you."

Clove tore her arm away from his grasp and only hissed at him some more. He reached his arm forward, closing in on her, and roughly tore the top half of her silk blouse open. She gawked at him, furious, her face reddening, "Get off of me!"

"Oh, don't be coy, Clove. I'll make it good."

She struggled against him, kicking him in the knee, but he kept moving closer to her, entirely unaffected, "I said NO!" she screeched out desperately.

At this point, she was shaking, and when she focused her eyes on his, she noted a glassy look in them, a distant disconnect and far-off look. This time, Clove hit him in the stomach, ordering, "Stop!"

Confusion seeped into his eyes, breaking his pattern of behavior, and he looked on at her, asking softly, "Clovey?..."

She took advantage of his wobbling confusion by pushing him onto the bed. Which, while not quite strong enough to do any damage was helpful enough to put her in the stronger position. He fell onto his back, holding his head, and began crying, tears streaming down his face.

Now Clove was confused, "Shut the fuck up. I didn't even push you that hard, you rotten piece of shit." Cato clutched his stomach in agonizing pain and she watched him warily, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

She had meant 'why had he molested her,' but he didn't seem cognizant enough to even understand what was happening around him, instead he choked out, "I need... my pill. Where are- The pills!" before passing out.

* * *

**AN** - Thank you, thank you, thank you for your reviews last chapter. I was literally beaming at work yesterday. In regards to technology, I've meant to insert this about a million times, but haven't had the proper scenario yet; District Two residences do not have telephones, only businesses (Hence why Clove had to go to Dicey's house to find out where Cato lived in chapter eleven). Victors and political officers are given videophones and Felix gave one to Nero before leaving on his victory tour.

I love you all so much. **Please review** :3


	29. The Haunting

To him who is in fear everything rustles.

-Sophocles

* * *

His dreams were vivid, technicolor, but saccharine and hellish.

There she was. Her red lipstick smeared across his cheek, tussled hair, and haunting eyes. He'd run, quickly as he could, but the walls would close in on him and keep him hostage. Her amused cackle echoed in the sudden darkness, taunting him.

_Where do you think you're going?  
_

She slithered over to him, a seductive tone in her voice, and cupped his chin.

He tried to voice his opposition, but it swelled in his throat. His mouth had been replaced by a zipper, with cracks running down his lips, and blood dribbling down his chin.

The manicured hands ravaged his chest, exploring every inch of him appreciatively and violently, her nails raking down his back.

Roughly, he yanked the zipper open and each of his teeth fell, one by one, to the ground. Don't do this! he told her, his mouth full of pus. With his heart about to beat out of his chest, he shook her, and repeated the pleas.

She tutted at him, only admonishing,  
_Honestly, it's undignified to be so histrionic._

* * *

As soon as Cato had fallen unconscious, the little brunette had made a mad dash for the only other unoccupied room on the train. That room just happened to be Cato's. His reaping attire, which consisted of a navy blue suit and white undershirt, were still in a messy heap on the floor.

The bed was still neatly made, with notes strewn on top of the covers. She collected them into a pile, only making out the words 'paste' and 'knots' followed by the number twelve, and placed them on the side-drawer. Clove climbed into the bed and took a heavy breath, trying to stop the incident from replaying in her head once again, but failing miserably.

Cato had actually tried to force her into having sex with him. He'd torn at her blouse and... It made her sick.

It was hard to decide on which emotion to settle on first, because there were so many popping up all at once. Predominantly anger and dismay, but she would have been lying if she hadn't admitted that fear was amongst the highest-ranking.

He was about eight inches taller than her, with a good sixty extra pounds of muscle. No matter how much Clove tried to assure herself that she could have fought him off, she knew that if he'd really wanted to fuck her, he'd have taken her without any extra effort.

The brunette couldn't figure out what scared her more: the thought that her best friend had nearly raped her, or the fact that she was still worried about him. She wasn't afraid of having sex, being no dainty virgin, and wasn't exactly unaccustomed to painful experiences, but Cato wasn't... He couldn't...

Cato had entirely blindsided her. It wasn't as if the blonde didn't have plenty of offers - he did - but his acknowledgement of sex usually only came in the form of jokes and riddles.

Technically, he'd been right. Clove had wanted to sleep with him once and had even tried to entice him into the sheets. Shortly before their parting of ways, they had been resting in his bed, her head cradled against his bare chest, with her long hair spilling over his sides, as they discussed what they planned to do with their lives post-games.

He'd made some off-hand comment that his favorite part of winning the candidacy position had been getting closer to her. Clove had been 100% sure that was bullshit and had nearly told him so, but it'd been such a cute moment that instead she'd given him a playful smile and slid in for a kiss.

He'd returned the kiss with a sexy little grin, and Clove had gone hands in towards his belt buckle before he'd locked up, prying her off of him and suggesting they go for a walk.

She'd said nothing, a bit affronted at the rejection, but had agreed hazily. She hadn't missed the undecipherable look on his face, he'd seemed almost... nervous? but maybe that had been in her own head; A projection of her own nerves to take the next step forward.

Cato hadn't said anything about the incident later on, but had become clingy in the aftermath. By the time he'd come to care for her during her flu, the blonde had had the smart remarks a long time coming.

The blonde was stubborn, defiant, obnoxious, childish, resilient, and mostly amoral, but he wouldn't try anything, would he?... The ambiguity left her drowning in a sea of doubt.

* * *

Cato woke with a stir. The blonde held his head, unable to remember how he'd gotten to bed last night. Now that he thought about it, this wasn't even his room. It was Clove's?

How had he gotten here? and where had Clove gone off to?

The pain in his stomach had died down, but the air was chilly and unwelcoming. His teeth chattered briskly as he moved himself to under the blanket, drawing it up around him as he shook erratically.

Once under the sheets, he felt a small prick, and grimaced, pulling the offending object out from under him. It was the teal bow he'd taken from Clove's sister. At the time, he'd felt compelled to have it. It had a significance he couldn't recall, and that had only made it more desirable in his eyes.

He placed the bow on the table beside him and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, but failing.

Clove's room held a terrible aura, one he couldn't exactly place. He knew he'd have to ask Clove how he had gotten there later. In the meantime, though, he disappeared from the world into the perils of slumber.

* * *

"I'm betting the Annex had him on a steroid regimen."

Clove narrowed her eyes and furrowed her eyebrows, "Steroids?"

"Unlike anything back home, too. This stuff's manufactured directly in the Capitol."

"I don't understand."

Felix's exhausted expression concerned her, "It's not unusual. They tried to begin one with me last year, but I told them to go fuck themselves. The trainers didn't like it, made my candidacy work a lot more difficult, but I'd say it was worth it to keep my sanity."

"Isn't that cheating?"

"Training in general is cheating, H," Felix quipped.

Clove slid against the wall and onto the floor, gazing up at him with gleaming eyes, "Do you think he'd have won tournament without em?"

Felix seemed unsure, almost guilty, "You know Cato. He grew up skinny, small. Not well-fed and not well-cared for either. Even when he got older, he still was of a more diminutive build than the rest of us."

Clove wasn't so sure of that, seeing as Felix had also become a lot thinner, "The trainers were trying to even out the playing field, compensate, make him a viable option, and to their credit, they did, but every action has a consequence."

She looked up at him, "Like unwarranted aggression?"

"I can't say. Cato's always been aggressive," Felix replied.

Clove tightened her posture and bitterly remarked, "Not this aggressive."

"Well, what did he do?" When the brunette didn't respond, Felix's eyes lightened, an uncharacteristically gentle, but concerned expression on his face, "H-"

"Tell me that's not a typical reaction," she snapped.

Felix contemplated, unsure, "Steroid regimens are done in cycles. Best case scenario, they started it right about when I returned from tour. Worst case scenario, he's in the middle of it, and withdrawal will present its own set of challenges."

"How will we know, then?"

"Oh, we'll know, because Cato's either about to get a whole hell of a lot better or a lot fucking worse."

* * *

**AN** - Paste being Peeta, ie "pasty faced," and Knots being Katniss, because he thought her braid was a knotted mess. I feel like Cato isn't taking much of this seriously, seeing as how he's currently lost his damn mind... And the mystery of Cato has only begun to be unraveled.

Just a note that chapters are going to get shorter, but I'll be updating more frequently to compensate.

Please review :3


	30. The Flicker

It is easy - terribly easy - to shake a man's faith in himself.  
To take advantage of that to break a man's spirit is devil's work.

- George Bernard Shaw

* * *

Clove was not happy. Irritated, defensive, unsure, curious, yes. Happy, no.

Felix had eyed her torn blouse with dark eyes, and then had pushed her into her temporary living chambers under the guise of 'getting ready.' He did so without telling her that Cato was still occupying her bed. When she'd turned around and tried to leave, Felix had closed her in and told her that she and Cato needed to 'sort out their differences.' At that point, Cato had woken up, and snorted derisively at the suggestion.

Clove had used a select handful of words against the raven-haired teen, but was unable to pry the door open. She remained by the corner of the room, trying to mask her discomfort, but failing.

"So we have to sort out our differences." Cato stated.

The frustrated teen didn't dignify his oh-so-wise observation with a response.

Exasperated, he complained of her demeanor. "You think I'm happy about this either, Clove? Like I'm dying to kill the one-" he stopped, unable to finish his thought.

"Well, why not?" she demanded, "Just fuck em and throw em away, right? Just like Dicey."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Clove stomped over to Cato and gave him a spiteful look, "You think you can scare me into obedience? Well, don't think for even a second that you or anything else can tell me what to do."

"I don't know," he said sarcastically, "I think you look pretty shaken up."

She bared her teeth, "I'm not going down without a fight."

Cato smirked, "I'd be disappointed if you did." Pulling the sheets off of him, the teen slipped out of bed, and neared her. Clove didn't look like she wanted to be anywhere near him, which affected him more than it should have. "We've got a lot of ground to cover before then. Truce?" He stuck out his arm.

The brunette eyed him skeptically, "On one condition."

"Is that so?" he jeered.

She yanked him down by the collar of his shirt, with a nasty expression on her face. "If you ever try to repeat your stunt from last night ever again, you'll be the first one I gun for when the counter strikes zero." Clove let go of his collar and gave him a sweet smile, before kicking the door so roughly that the individual on the other side fell to ground as she made her exit.

The blonde frowned, crossing his arms, "But what did I do?"

* * *

His prep team was obnoxious.

They had long ago introduced themselves, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what their names were.

The trio consisted of: an older purple-skinned man with white hair and a white mustache, silver eyeliner, and blue eyes, as well as a young woman barely older than him, with sea-green hair, golden eyes, and small wings embedded in her back, and a pink-skinned middle-aged woman with black hair, black eyes, and tattoos outlined in simple, clean black ink.

The youngest of them, the green-haired girl, was chatty, enthusiastic, and not subtle in her advances at all. They'd been tidying him up for about an hour and she'd already called him, amongst many other things, "an Adonis" and remarked upon his resemblance to the sculpture David.

Cato could only imagine what Clove would say if she could hear the young woman.

There was still a vague stinging pain from the complete wax work they'd performed on him, and his head still ached considerably from the previous day.

"Your mentor, he's very, very handsome too. I asked daddy to get him for my last year birthday, but he'd said no." She pouted a bit.

The blonde wasn't sure what she meant by that, but it made his skin itch. Her gold eyes flickered, and she gave him a seductive glance. She looked almost like a desert wildcat ready to snatch its prey, and with her eyes, the resemblance was nearly uncanny.

He sat in place as they tried to cover as many of his scars as they could. "Every year your tributes are a mess," clucked the purple-skinned man, who seemed to be taking inventory. Cato wanted to scoff. He'd never be able to tally up the complete count.

"Harley, be nice. You remember what happened last year," the pink-skinned woman chastised.

"I do," the younger girl piqued, grinning at the purple-skinned man.

Harley said nothing in return to both of the woman, and continued to cover the marks as quickly as he could. Cato was silently impressed by their work, if not a bit uncomfortable. He hadn't looked this clear-skinned in over a decade.

"Besides, if this young man wins, they'll fix him up permanently when he returns," the pink-skinned woman told him.

The sea-green haired young woman squealed, "Oh, Cato, you must win then!"

"Xena, please get back to work," the pink-skinned woman ordered.

She look embarrassed, "Oh, relax, Aries. Cato is a sure winner. Aren't you?" she asked him with a smile.

He studied her for a moment. Everything about them was so bizarre. Almost as if they were from a twisted, delusional day dream of his. The blonde was pretty sure her hair wasn't a wig, which was particularly strange to him. Cato finally responded, "You'll find no one better prepared."

Aries and Harley said nothing in return, but Xena clapped her hands cheerfully, "Of course we won't!" She ran a hand through his hair, which he hadn't had time to wash since yesterday's reaping, before assessing him completely, "Your eyes are lovely, but with some work we could make them even brighter. Once you return."

Cato wondered if that was supposed to be incentive. He wasn't sure.

Another hour went by as they washed his hair, tidied up his eyebrows, and rid him of any dirt. It was an uncomfortable process, but nothing comparable to what he'd gone though in training. It was a different sort of uncomfortable, really. Xena's accent, one he'd only heard on television before, had become less peculiar, though he'd supposed that after hearing anything for two hours, his brain would have rationalized it as normal eventually.

The last step was to oil him down, and he had to stifle a gasp of pleasure as his skin became moist and soft to the touch. In District Two, dry skin was a presumption. The land was a nearly barren desert and youth in training didn't care to expose themselves to the coarse climate by walking around in smooth, vulnerable skin. Here, in the Capitol, he doubted such precautions were necessary and didn't fight them as he was sure so many others did.

"Xena, go fetch Michaelis. Our tribute is ready."

* * *

Clove kicked her knees together, a discomfort in the pit of her stomach as she waited for her stylist. Her prep team had removed every single stray hair on her body. They'd cleaned her hair, oiled her skin, and even worked to clean up her scars. Of course, this wasn't before they cooed at her with pity, asking if she worked in the quarries and if that was the reason she was so 'beat up.'

The brunette hadn't bothered to hide her scoff. She'd felt like an examination subject, awaiting the first strike.

As the door opened, Clove's eyes traveled to the woman who'd be her stylist. Her hair was styled in long, lilac curls, with unnaturally blue eyes, "I'm Flora."

Clove didn't say anything, only watching her stylist hesitantly as the woman came over to assess her bare body. Up close, Clove could see that Flora was young for a District Two stylist. Maybe around the same age as her aunt, about mid-thirties.

"You're the first to be reaped in several decades, but you don't look at all afraid."

"I'd planned to volunteer for the quell, anyways." Clove said, trying to appease her stylist's discerning eye.

Flora looked mildly impressed, "Yes, well you're a small thing, but a perfect companion to your district partner. You have the perfect bone structure for what we've decided on."

"And what's that?" Clove asked noncommittally.

She thought back to Felix's outfit the previous year. They'd covered him and Cinder in stone-colored spray paint to highlight their muscle tone, turning the pair into statuesque works of art.

Flora only smirked, "An homage to our history; Golden gladiators."

* * *

"They're not meant to compliment us," Cato said candidly, as they waited for their chariots. Michaelis and Flora had gone off to discuss other matters, and they stood impatiently as the chariot was brought forward. In the background, Athena and Felix watched them with amused smirks.

Clove gave them a wary once-over.

"Gladiators were low-class, slaves. Volunteers were rare and only the subject of a last resort. In other words, these outfits demean us."

The blonde was much more well-read on such subjects, so she trusted his reasoning, but Clove couldn't hide that she thought the costumes were incredibly well-designed despite their covert meaning, "At least we're not quarry workers."

"My prep team thinks I look like the statue of David."

"My prep team doesn't think at all."

He smirked at that, "Nervous?"

"Bored," Clove corrected.

Cato arched his brows, "Not for long."

The pair was lead into the chariot by Flora and Michaelis, who positioned them side by side. Cato to the left, and Clove to the right. They rested immediately behind District One, whose horses were of a sleek, white coat that matched the luxury district's white tunics and toxic silver spray paint. They might have been considered attractive to the District Two duo if the scent of their spray paint wasn't too busy suffocating them.

"No wonder Amethyst agreed to kill Fix. I would have too with how putrid that stuff smells," Clove complained.

The opening music began and the doors opened. Swiftly, the horses began leading the chariot into the streets. Crowds lined the streets, screaming their district numbers as they passed. Lately, his name had been cheered so many times, that Cato's tolerance had begun to outweigh his distinct distaste for loud noises.

Clove began to slide against him, a subtle clink of her armor making impact with his, and he steadied her slightly. They waved at the crowd with long, winning strides, not nearly as quickly as the pair in front on them.

As the last chariot made its way into the streets, unfamiliar names were screeched with such enthusiasm that Clove blinked, almost losing her cool mask.

She looked up towards the nearest screen to see that the last tributes, from the trudges of Twelve, were on fire. At first, she wondered if the flames would overtake them and they'd have to be replaced, but they were dark, illuminated only by the flames that surrounded them.

In no time at all, all of the attention had been usurped from her and Cato, and the crowd began to cheer for District Twelve by name, "Katniss! Peeta!"

A fierce anger boiled in Cato's chest, and as the tributes began blowing kisses towards the Capitol crowd, the cameras began singularly focusing in on them.

Within a few minutes, their chariot stopped in the center of city circle, outside of the president's extravagant home. The Capitol anthem began to play as he bid them welcome and made a concise speech. Shortly afterwards, the chariot began to move once more and Cato and Clove were pulled directly into the training center. Here, they would excel. Here, they'd show Twelve what a mistake it had been to cross them.

Once inside, the prep team ran to their side and the stylists removed them from the chariot, "For now, we've done what we can. The rest is up to you." It sounded faintly like an apology, but Cato didn't give them even a flicker of attention. Instead, he waited furiously.

As District Twelve pulled in, he gave them a sadistic, malicious glare. The boy turned away, looking highly uncomfortable.

Cato licked his lips delectably. He would take great pleasure in breaking them. Piece by piece, bone by bone. If attention was what they wanted, he'd be sure to fulfill their wishes. He'd immortalize their suffering and make them unforgettable even in death.

* * *

**Please review :)**


	31. The Soldier

The man who voyages strange seas must of necessity be a little unsure of himself.  
It is the man with the flashy air of knowing everything, who is always with it, that we should beware of.

- Fred Hoyle

* * *

**If** you were gone over the weekend, read the last chapter first. This one starts with a flashback, but continues through to the end of Cato and Clove's first day in the Capitol. This takes place post-chariot but before training.

* * *

_Hunger Games Year 65 - Autumn  
Cato and Dicey are eight. Clove is seven.  
_

"Sir, we must stampede the castle. The invader has been found!"

The blonde boy swung his 'sword', "But we cannot leave the princess! She will be unprotected from the evil lurking in the shadows." He pointed to a pile of rocks under the tree; their 'princess.'

"Then we must take her with us, Soldier Elroy," the dark-haired redhead responded in agreement.

Cato nodded, "Come, princess. It is not safe out here." The boys pretended to lift the princess up, and pull her with them.

"We shall protect you as it is our duty," Dicey told 'her.'

The two swung at the bushes with their sticks, as if cutting down vines that blocked their path. Once they reached the other side, Cato put a finger to his mouth and whispered, "Quiet now, Soldier Wilder. We must use a sneak attack."

The other boy nodded fervently, and followed him as silently as he could. They hid under more bushes and watched carefully, when a familiar voice rung out, "What are you playing?"

Cato and Dicey fell backwards. The small girl observed them with great interest.

"We're soldiers protecting the princess!" Dicey said from his spot on the ground, studying the petite girl before him, "Who are you?"

She extended her hand, "I'm Clove."

He gave her a funny look, "You're that girl Felix makes fun of." Clove looked away, flushing. Dicey continued with a grin, "You are, aren't you? He's got a big mouth." The redhead contorted his mouth into as wide a shape as he could, making ridiculous expressions.

Clove giggled, "Can I play?"

Dicey consulted with Cato, who shrugged. "You can be the princess."

"I want to be a soldier," Clove complained.

"We already have two of those. We need a princess."

Cato grinned, "If you really want to be a solider, you and Dicey can fight against each other and loser will be princess."

The brunette brightened considerably, "Okay!"

Dicey gave his friend an exasperated glare, before grasping on his stick tightly, "I won't go easy on you!" Cato handed his to Clove, which she accepted gracefully.

The auburn-haired boy was swift and dodgy, which she grumbled miserably about, but he wasn't too keen on attacking. After only a few minutes, she'd finally backed him against a tree, and struck forward with her 'sword.' From the unpleasant look on his face, Clove knew she had won.

A very sullen expression crossed his features, darkening his brown eyes, and crinkling his cheeks. He blew hot air out of his cheeks. "I'll protect you, princess!" she told him cheerfully.

Not one to break his promise, but not exactly in the best of moods, Dicey unwillingly followed Clove back to Cato, who was laughing at him, "Yes! Let's go Soldier- What is your last name?"

"Holloway."

"Yes, well, Soldier Holloway, there's an invader in the castle and we must kill them and pull out all their guts!"

Clove blinked, confused, "But how come?"

Cato looked up, "Ummm, because he's an evil wizard who comes back to life with healing powers, but if you pull em all out, then he can't heal himself!"

"Oh," she accepted the explanation and turned to Dicey, "Alas, dear princess!"

The blonde also turned toward Dicey, "And once we do that, you can go to sleep for a million years, and when you wake up, you will be queen and reign all the land." He extended his arm outwards and pointed to all that lay before them.

The trio walked the dirt path, "Soldier Elroy, where does the castle rest?"

"Uhhh," he looked around, "There!" Cato pointed to an open market in the center of town. The three continued their route, hazily swiping their 'swords' in the air. One shopkeeper gave them a glare, and Cato looked to Clove, whispering conspiratorially, "He's the wizard's accomplice."

"Yes, we must be careful," Clove said vigilantly. She stood closer to Dicey.

"The castle has been left unlocked!" Cato shouted to her, running past the outdoor stalls and towards the pouring fountain.

Clove gasped, "Hurry, princess! We must storm the castle before it's too late."

Dicey begrudgingly picked up their pace and chased after the pair, who forced him into a sitting position on the fountain's edge once he'd reached them, "Stay here. We must investigate!" Cato told him.

The two ran behind some hedges, cautiously lowering themselves to the ground to scour for their invader. After five or six minutes, they returned, relieved and slightly discouraged, "We haven't found him yet."

"Maybe if I come with you, he'll come out of hiding and reveal himself," Dicey suggested, and more energetically added, "It could be like a trap!"

Cato looked to Clove, before shaking his head in disagreement, "It's not safe."

"Besides," the brunette added lightly, "Princesses should be seen, not heard."

Dicey gave her a death glare, ready to counter, before Cato so rudely interrupted him, "We should regroup and return to base."

Clove nodded, this time leading the way, with Cato following behind Dicey. Once at the old tree, they rested briefly, before Cato called out, alarmed, "I see the wizard!"

"Hide, princess!" Clove told Dicey, trying to push him behind the tree but instead forcing him onto the ground, before stalking after Cato. The blonde ran quickly back towards the dirt path and launched himself onto the 'wizard.'

"I've got you now, evil wizard!" he called out. The dirty-blonde looked up, slightly frazzled, before being mauled by another body.

His green eyes shone with confusion, before a wary smile broke out, "If I'm a wizard, what are you two?"

"Soldiers," Cato said, as if should have been obvious. He pointed to himself, and then to his brown-haired companion, "Soldier Elroy and Soldier Holloway."

Recognition lit in his eyes, "How didn't I figure that out on my own? Well, soldiers, you've taken me down already." He pointed to his arm, "I'm bleeding." And he was. They'd caught him off-guard, and now his arm was marred by a small, but dirty scratch.

Cato eyed him suspiciously, unrelenting, "We have to pull out all of your guts, so you don't regenerate."

"I don't know about that," the blonde figure laughed, surprising the two figures with a strong hold, which they attempted to stave off, their efforts of course proving futile. Cato glanced over to the 'princess' quickly before returning his attention to his attacker.

Under the dying autumn tree, Dicey glowered, his eyes narrow, cheeks puffy, and a reddening anger as he sat entirely on his own, ignored.

Cato and Clove giggled as the blonde teen told them with an amused smirk, "You two will be perfect tributes one day."

After a few minutes, the redhead stood up impatiently, and indignantly screamed, "You guys suck! I hope you all die!" His entire body shook, angry sobs overtaking him, before he ran off as quickly as his legs would take him.

* * *

_Present day_

Was it a memory, a dream, a figment of his imagination? It was hard to tell. Dicey's anger, as much as his fire-brushed locks, was real. Clove's cutting words, her directing, that had to have been real too. Still, it seemed intangible. Too clean to be entirely true.

_The perfect tributes?_ He wasn't so sure of that at all. Cato wanted to tell the mysterious figure from his dream, memory, imagination, whatever it was, that he had been mistaken, but when the blonde tried to conceive the the figure from his ruminations, his mind drew a blank.

Then, the dizziness returned. He groaned, recalling unpleasantly what Felix had said earlier; There would be no more pills.

Fuck. fuck. fuck.

Cato could barely figure up from down. He wasn't sure what was real and what had been born in the dusty recesses of his mind. Was that a consequence of the medication or had he actually begun to lose his mind?

No matter thinking about it now, he thought. He had other tasks to busy himself with.

The blonde stared at the various contraptions in the bedroom he'd be calling home for the next week. When they'd arrived, Malee had explained each of devices patiently. One created any meal desired within a minute, another produced any outfit in any size, even the shower was amazing, if not entirely too ridiculous.

When he'd gone to dinner, he found Athena and Felix sitting at the dining table. They were re-watching the reaping and taking even more notes. Was that normal protocol for a mentor?

This time they were focused on the tributes he'd nicknamed 'Guppy' and 'Seaweed.' The boy, entirely too small for District Four, was 'Guppy.' 'Seaweed' was the dark-haired girl, whose expression had been entirely green throughout the the entire reaping.

"Where's Clove?" Athena asked, looking directly at him. He wondered why. It wasn't as if Clove was his responsibility.

"I've been in my room since we got in."

Felix maneuvered himself carefully around the avoxes who had begun setting the table for dinner, "Mind getting her?" It was phrased as a request, but delivered as an order. That was Felix's usual mannerism of speaking.

Cato withheld a hostile retort and returned to the residential hallway. He knocked impatiently, "Clove, it's time to eat."

"I'm not really hungry," she called back, softly. He didn't bother hiding the eye roll this time. He heard a rustling of sheets, but no footsteps.

The blonde frowned. While functionally-speaking dinner was a time to eat, it was also a time in which mentors and tributes discussed strategy and planned a course of action for the following day. "We've got a lot to cover," he reminded her.

She coughed severely, to the point of restless hacking. Maybe recklessly, he propped the door to her room open and stepped in. The room was intensely dark, but he could make Clove out underneath a thin bed sheet. Cato turned on a light before warily walking towards her for a better look.

To his extreme displeasure, the brunette was entirely red. Her face was burning up, a layer of sweat on her forehead. She had cold and shaky hands, hives, and had begun developing rashes all over various patches of skin. "Did someone give you strawberries?" he demanded, enraged.

Clove wheezed, "-s'in the shower wash."

"Felix, help! We need epinephrine!"

The words sounded foreign on his lips, but he screamed them as loudly as he could without panicking. Propping Clove up gently, Cato leaned her small frame against him. "Won't die before I kill you," she whispered determinedly.

Cato scoffed, "Reaction is overheating your brain already. What you meant to say was you won't die until I'm through with you."

She look at him tiredly, her face becoming increasingly red as she was barely able to choke out, "Can't breathe, Cato."

"Shh, I've got you." He told her nervously, rubbing her back softly.

Felix and Athena ran into the room, and the black-haired boy hurriedly threw Clove over his shoulder like a rag doll, before prompting Cato and his fellow mentor to follow him. They flew down two flights of stairs, skipping the elevator, before making it to the ground level, where the infirmary was.

He pushed the glass door open with a clank, and screamed at no one in particular, "Our tribute has had an allergic reaction. She needs a dosage now!"

A team of workers made their way over with a gurney, one with a clipboard. Felix placed Clove on the surface and one of the workers propped her head up to prevent the brunette from suffocating or causing brain damage.

The one with the clipboard began a back and forth with Felix to gather basic data.

"Name?" he asked.

"Clove Holloway," Felix replied.

"Age?"

"16."

"Blood type?"

Felix looked to Cato, who shook his head. He hadn't even known his own blood type until he'd entered the tournament.

"What was the reaction to?"

"Berries, she's allergic to a whole lot."

Cato frowned, wondering how Felix could possibly know that. He pushed the thought away and stepped forward boldly, "Strawberries. It was streamed from the wash in her shower."

"How long ago was she exposed?"

Felix exhaled, running his hand through his hair, "Who knows. Last time I saw her was over an hour ago."

"She'll be alright, won't she?" Cato demanded, angrily.

The note taker didn't look up from his clipboard, only remarking, "They'll do the best they can."

Cato growled ferociously at the man and Felix had to push him back, softly telling him, "Leave."

"No!"

"If her condition changes, I'll come find you. You and Athena need to start prep work for tomorrow. I'll work with Clove for now."

The blonde glared at him defiantly.

Felix gave him a stone cold glance, "Don't forget who's in charge here, Elroy."

"Listen, you bastard-"

Athena snorted, "Let's go, Cato." He whipped his head towards her, a no-nonsense glance on her face. Cato didn't dare cross her, only giving Felix another dirty look, "Don't make me repeat myself!" she ordered him.

Cato bit his tongue, following her silently out of the infirmary. The raven-haired teen sighed and leaned against the wall. He closed his eyes, before picking himself up, and joining Clove in the suite ahead. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

Early the next day, several hours before daylight, the blonde woke up in a hot flash, breathing heavily. He nearly threw the lamp in frustration when he saw the state of his lower attire. Cato buried his head into the center of his pillow, trying not to choke up.

Refusing to let his dreams get the best of him, he turned over and stared at the ceiling resolutely. The blonde turned to his side, willing away the dull ache in his bones.

When he looked up, he saw a glass of ice water and a small plate of cool grapes resting on the nightstand.  
It took him less than a second to guess who'd prepared it for him.

* * *

**AN** - I have too much fun messing with Dicey. The recollection of the memory wasn't random. It'll serve a purpose in the next chapter. I told myself I'd get to the first day of training in this chapter, but alas...

**Please review! (:  
**


	32. The Yearning

Nothing that is worth knowing can be taught.

- Oscar Wilde

* * *

Cato tried to stop his stomach from knotting. His nightmares had kept him awake all night, sick and unwound, deprived of the rest he so desperately needed. On top of that, Felix and Athena had ambushed him and Clove as so they'd woken up, and while his district partner looked considerably healthier than before, Cato still had a feeling of unease. He had planned on keeping a careful eye on her anyways, but now he had a second, less selfish reason to do so.

Felix instructed them to make sure the other tributes understood who was in charge, to make them cower before them. Cato only snorted contemptuously at that, and the raven-haired teen launched forward, punching him directly into the stomach, warning him "not to ever disrespect" him again.

Cato staggered back, giving his seventeen year old mentor a dirty look.

The older teen only grit out, "I am not some lowlife from the Annex. I won these games, and if you want to win them too, you'll do what I advise."

"I don't need your help," Cato shot back hotly.

"Is that a wager you're willing to make? Because I wouldn't be so sure."

Clove was quiet and very blase about the whole scene that had unfolded in front of her. How many times had she seen the two of them destroy another in close-combat? When she went to take a sip of juice, her mentor snatched the glass out of her hand, forbidding both her and Cato from consuming any artificial sugars during the duration of their training.

The brunette slouched in her seat, grumbling bitterly, as Cato recollected himself. She didn't like sweets much to begin with, but she was tired of having every facet of her life dictated by others. She might win the games just to have a slice of cheesecake, just so she could.

Cato didn't eat much. The blonde mostly sliced, reorganized, and played with what rested on his plate. He pushed the plate of eggs, sausage, and grits he'd chosen away from himself in disgust, and grabbed a new plate, loading it with sliced apples and toast instead.

"That won't sustain you," Athena admonished, slicing into her piece of ham.

Cato couldn't keep the irritation out of his reply, "I think I know what will sustain me."

"Elroy, eat up!" Felix ordered.

Clove closed her eyes, and willed the situation to disappear on its own, but when she opened her eyes, the table was still tense. "If Cato wants to go on a suicide mission, who are you stop him?"

"That stuff's gross, alright? Leave me alone." Cato added with a grumble, pointing to the plate of food. It almost pained him to throw the food away, knowing that ten years ago, in his most desperate moments, he might have begged for the meal.

Fortunately for Felix, Clove did not seem adverse to food, and seemed to be packing away so much of it that he wondered if she might actually gain weight in the following days. From what he'd seen from the District One and Four girls, Clove was the smallest among the traditional alliance.

Glimmer, from the luxury district, was taller and heavier than her. Kailani, from 4, wasn't as tall as Glimmer, but from what he'd seen at the chariot rides, she was certainly well-fed and had subtle muscle toning that would be to her advantage. Not enough to avoid a knife, but enough to wreck a few outlines at the cornucopia certainly.

The male tributes had absolutely nothing on Cato. At least nothing apparent. Marvel, Glimmer's partner, seemed to be composed mostly of charisma. He liked attention and played well to a crowd. That could snag him potential sponsors. Rio, on the other hand, didn't even have that in his favor. The kid couldn't be older than thirteen and he was set up for the slaughter. Along with Rue of 11, he appeared to be one of the youngest of this year's pick.

Felix didn't understand 4's volunteer system. He wasn't sure they even had one. Some years, you had several teens vying for the tribute spot and most often the first one on stage won the opportunity. Other years, no one volunteered, and they ended up with a kid like Rio or a youngster like Finnick Odair. Something told Felix that Rio wouldn't be quite as fortunate as his mentor.

"You need to eat more than that," Felix prodded the blonde with his fork. Why today of all days did Cato have to go on a hunger strike?

"Just let it be," Clove complained. "He is more than capable of making his own dietary choices."

Felix gave her a halfhearted glare, hazily countering, "I'd prefer the opinion of someone whose mouth hasn't been around Cato's cock, but thanks anyways."

Cato's eyes widened with dismay and he cringed. A rage came over his district partner. The knife she'd pulled from the roast barely missed his mentor's shoulder, instead pinning his against the wall by the fabric of his shirt. "You have no idea what you're talking about, and I don't give a fuck if you won the games. You'll always be a dreary little hoodlum."

She stormed out of the dining room, towards the elevator.

Athena sat, amused, while Cato only shook his head exhaustively, "Think I'll go down too."

* * *

After Atala, the head trainer, had given the batch her opening speech the tributes dispersed to various stations.

It was candy-coated paradise for Clove. Knives of various sizes and uses lined the wall of the throwing knives station. Some tributes had come over to have their first lessons, but they were inaccurate, uncoordinated, and entirely embarrassing to the craft. It made her want to pry the knives out of her clumsy fingers and fling it into the small of their backs.

The other weapons, like the spears were smooth and agile. So far, only the male from One had taken notice. The spears were a lot less bulky than the versions they trained with in Two. The barrage of bows and arrows had been left untouched and she wondered how calm and collected Nero would be if he saw how defined and clean they were. She wouldn't have been surprised to see him drool over the damn thing. Ah, well it didn't change her opinion. No matter what shape or form, archery would always be stupid to her.

In between the various weapons stations were stands that catered to the less capable tributes: close combat and martial arts for beginners, edible plants and herbal remedies, camouflage, and survival skills. Most of these subjects were taught in classes and group sessions at the Annex and unnecessary for the talented girl from Two.

The inherent problem with focusing solely on survival stations was that without weapons you couldn't win. Then again, even if you had a weapon, it wouldn't save you from blood poisoning or surprise attacks. It was an unfortunate catch 22 for the districts too lazy to train their tributes to vie for such honor.

Some tributes didn't bother training with weapons. Twelve, for example, played at the rope tying station. Clove wondered if she was going to hang herself. She'd have enjoyed watching her asphyxiate, but not nearly as much she would have enjoyed hearing every affect and pitch of Twelve's screams. Five was at the edible plant station. Ten was learning about herbal treatments, and failing to hide his dollop-sized tear drops.

Others had been competing close-hand combat.

_Pathetic, _she thought as she watched them, _My twelve year old sister could beat you sissies. _

Athena had instructed her and Cato to wait for the other trained tributes to approach them to form the alliance. Clove remained content in her fury at Felix and Cato hadn't yet stored enough energy to properly handle her mood swings today. Several months had put him out of practice in placating her temper.

Still, something was bothering him, and she was his only available resource at the moment.

"Does District One look familiar?" He asked, his eyes fixated on the sultry blonde.

"Her name is Shimmer," Clove replied offhand. The blonde girl's fishtail braids seemed to be in direct contrast to the sexy image she'd been trying to embody the past two days.

"Actually, her name is Glimmer." Cato and Clove turned to see the male tribute from One, 'cherub' as Cato had dubbed him, extending his hand warmly, "And I'm Marvel."

Neither of the pair obliged him and he withdrew his hand with a half-frown that he quickly masked. "Both names are equally stupid," Cato informed the discouraged teen, "So it doesn't really matter which it is."

"Truthfully, Glimmer's name is the only thing nice about her. But if you're wondering where you've seen her, it's probably on television. She's one of the cast members of Diamond Heist."

Clove gave him a strange look, "Are we supposed to know what that is?"

Marvel shrugged, "It's a popular television drama in District One. They broadcast it in the Capitol too. I figured they showed it in Two. Guess not."

"What's it about?" Clove urged him, annoyed at the ambiguity in his words.

The curly-haired boy grinned, "No one really knows. It's been on the air for years and years too. Basically, the owner of District One's biggest diamond supplier finds his source infiltrated by thieves. He enlists the help of five teenagers to investigate separate parts of District One to trace down the band of thieves. Two scope out the local school, and-"

"It sounds stupid," Cato interrupted.

"_It is stupid_," Marvel agreed, "My sister made me promise to get Glimmer's autograph, though. I didn't even know who she was until Regan threatened to drop out of my wedding if I didn't keep up my end of the bargain."

Clove wrinkled her nose in distaste, "You're getting married?"

"If I win," he corrected her a big smile, "Alexandria Whitson, one of District One's greatest luxuries, promised me her hand in marriage."

Cato snorted, "She probably didn't think you'd make it."

"That's her mistake, then," Marvel said with a cheeky smile, "Anyways, I'm off to meet District Four. Nice to meet you Cato, Clove."

As he wandered off, Clove frowned. "Did we tell him our names?"

"No," Cato responded distractedly, still eying Glimmer intensely.

Clove rolled her eyes, "If you want to fuck her, just go over and tell her. We've got things to do."

"I swear I've seen her before, Clove. Are you sure she doesn't look familiar?"

The brunette squinted her eyes, watching the attractive blonde wearily, "It's a stretch, but if she were a little taller, shorter hair, she'd look sort of like your brother."

Cato's face contorted into confusion, "What?"

"You don't see it? The dirty blonde hair, tanned skin tone, resembled bone structure. She looks a lot like him now that I think about it. It's difficult to unsee once you've picked it out. "

He walked closer to Glimmer to get a better look. Firmly, he replied, "District One looks nothing like Oliver."

Clove let out an exasperated chuckle, jabbing him in the side, "I meant Mars. Really, Cato? As if I'd compare the street walker to your baby brother."

Confusion flooded his eyes and the young man looked to Clove for clarification, "Who's Mars?"

"This isn't really the time for jokes."

The blonde shook his head, "No, really. I don't remember. That's not... That's not a good sign."

She suppressed several unpleasant reactions to that news, including panic, annoyance, and concern, "Your older brother. How could you forget? He was tan, had blonde hair, green eyes, and usually had a serious look about him. You're not serious, are you?"

As he tried to piece her description together, his mind continued to block him, but it hadn't been too long ago that he'd seen the image in the corner of his ruminations. He blinked his eyes, trying to force a conceptualization, "He played with us when we were younger."

"Only a few times."

Several images flashed in his head and he realized exactly who the girl from District One looked like, "Glimmer looks just like my mom." He told her quietly, looking highly uncomfortable as he watched her.

"I'll take your word for it," Clove replied, walking off.

An hour of slicing off dummy heads passed and Cato began to feel a strange feeling of recollection, of deja vu. The outline tributes were still trying to master axes and unsurprisingly failing in their endeavors. Some inkling of instinct tied this visual to an image he could not capture of his supposed elder brother. He tried to bury the welling of pain that had enclosed on him, knowing he'd once had an older brother, maybe a friend, maybe a confidant. Cato squinted his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He didn't know what kind of person his supposed brother had been. For all he knew, he could have been weak, cruel, or unfit.

He transitioned to the spear station, where Marvel had been working effortlessly. In his movements, he was grave, determined, and unshakeable. It was fascinating to observe the shift between lighthearted and eager to please to competent and swift Marvel. Cato choose Marvel the first to be accepted in his alliance, well aside from Clove. He'd have dragged her kicking and screaming, though.

Cato picked up a spear and went to the 10 meter mark. He got a firm grasp on the pristine silver material. He could almost hear Dicey's laugh as the redhead threw from impossibly far markers. Getting into position, Cato got a hold on the spear and thrust it forward. As expected, it hit dead center.

10 meters wasn't much, he knew. Even Clove could manage that much, despite her less than stellar enthusiasm for the weapon. Cato took another four shots and when satisfied with the results, he traveled back another few meters.

The tributes from Twelve were at the camouflage station and he suppressed a snort. The blonde boy, with hair darker than his own, 'Paste' was decorating himself with mud and other materials. The knotted girl was only watching her partner with disinterest. They'd be soon be dead anyway, Cato thought to himself, and began throwing spears.

An immeasurable time passed as he and Marvel continued to perfect their technique. Cato began to wonder if the curly-haired boy was like Magnilda. Innocent in appearance and demeanor, but lethal in provocation. He'd make sure to keep a close eye on his allies or forgo a Felix fiasco.

In the meantime, he'd gotten the familiar feeling of being watched. The volunteer from Twelve was gaping at him and he smirked to himself. If she wanted a show, she'd get one. He began to show off, throwing from fifteen meters and eventually even twenty. It took a little bit of managing, but it was worth it to see her cowering face.

She needed to know her place. A pretty costume wouldn't save you, wouldn't do your dirty work, and he felt a sense of satisfaction in making sure she knew this.

The 24 tributes were eventually called to lunch and Clove inquired as to his assessment of the other tributes. He was quick to tell her that Marvel was in. Clove added another member to their roster, "Glimmer will do well."

"What's her trade?" He was genuinely curious, having not observed her since the early morning hours.

Clove laughed bitterly, "Looking pretty, and that could be useful if we're ever in need of anything extra."

Athena had ordered him under no circumstances to allow the boy from 4 into their alliance, but Felix had other ideas. Privately, he'd told him to admit him and eliminate him quickly at the cornucopia. Cato didn't know whether to proud of Felix's muddled kindness or to be disgusted by his developing weakness. Pity wasn't a regular part of their training, but he was right in confiding in Cato instead of Clove, because she'd have eaten the kid for breakfast.

Seaweed (he doesn't know he real name) had been plopping various foods onto her plate, not at all looking interested in any of it. Marvel tread up to them with a gesture to her, "Kailani's a trap master. She's been trying to keep it under wraps, but I could tell with the way she's been looking at the rope that it'd be better to have her on our side."

"Who says you and I are on the same side?" Cato asked, annoyed at such an arrogant assumption.

"Clove said so," he shrugged, "Doesn't matter to me, though. Game plan is the same either way. Everyone dies and I go on with my life."

Cato had a hard time sincerely disliking Marvel. He was annoying, sure, but he was so casual, flexible, and easily directed. "Yeah, I guess you're in. Tell sexpot over there that she's in too."

Marvel bit back a laugh, "Sure." He waved off and trailed over to Glimmer.

"That boy is dumber than a post," Clove remarked.

"I'd rather deal with a happy-go-lucky idiot than an arrogant idiot. He's good with spears too. Good enough to keep around until he outlives his usefulness."

He gave the other four tributes to come sit with them and they swiftly found a table, where they chatted boisterously. Okay, well Glimmer and Marvel chattered boisterously. Clove mostly jumped in every few seconds to challenge their assertions. Rio had sat quietly, smiling anxiously whenever any looked to him.

Kailani eventually broke her ice-hold and began to discuss how she'd originally been poised to be a marine researcher, testing water levels and developing notes on various sea creatures inhabiting the deepest ocean crevices of 4. She'd begun to delve more into her training, before being drowned out by the fiery Clove and perky Glimmer.

Cato finally let loose and joined the conversation by detailing various stories of his mentor, Felix Grey. And they lapped it all up, so amused and cheerful, that they didn't realize they'd all begun to let their masks slip. A few more days of prying and he'd know all he'd need to come out on top.

* * *

**AN** - In case you were wondering, I've always visualized Nicollette Sheridan as Cato's mother.

I'm sorry this chapter took forever to come out. I've been trying to keep accurate to the books by listening to the audiobooks. I never realized how much Katniss interrupts the present with past anecdotes, which isn't helpful when writing about Cato and Clove. I decided to make the male from 4 as young as the actor that portrayed him, because it makes it easier than adding in an alpha male sort of personality for Cato to clash with.

**Please review!**


	33. The Reconstruction

It is the neglect of timely repair that makes rebuilding necessary.

- Richard Whately

* * *

Sundara sat impatiently on counter, waiting for her 'incompetent' doctor to diagnose her. It'd been weeks since she'd contracted the flu and still it valiantly persisted. Oliver sat in a chair below her, "You'll be okay, right, mama?"

"I'll be wonderful, Oliver. Don't you worry at all."

The burly doctor entered, followed by her husband. "Finally," she clucked.

He smoothed back his frayed white hair, "Now, Mrs. Elroy, you aren't ill as we previously thought."

She gave him an exasperated, disbelieving expression, "Oh, then it's all in my head, of course."

Mr. Elroy let out a faint chuckle, "Let the man speak, Sunni."

"As far as I've measured, I estimate you to be three months pregnant."

"Well, I estimate you to be incompetent. I'll have you know I haven't gained an ounce of weight in over six months."

Her doctor nodded, scribbling onto his clipboard, "That's problematic. From what your husband has told me, you are an active gymnast. While it's important to get exercise during pregnancy, you seem to exercise excessively."

"She's really good," Oliver interrupted, playing with toy figure. Sundara gave him a dazzling smile.

The doctor smiled slightly and bent down, "I'm sure she is, but don't you want your first brother or sister to be healthy, son?"

"I've already got brothers," the dark-haired blonde informed him.

He looked back to the Mr. and Mrs. Elroy, "You have other children?"

"Yes."  
"No.

Mr. Elroy sighed, "I had two sons with my first wife. My oldest would have been 23 and the other is 16, but back to the matter at hand. Will my wife be okay?"

"Pregnancy this late can be risky. There are higher rates of miscarriage, genetic problems, and twins become increasingly common."

"_This late_?" the black-haired woman demanded, "How old do you think I am, sir? Why I'm only 34."

He ignored her ramblings, proceeding, "If you plan to continue this pregnancy, I would recommend you start taking nutrient capsules and increasing your caloric intake. Gaining weight is a good thing, unless you'd like your child to have a slew of developmental problems."

Mr. Elroy was not a superstitious man... but the last time he'd gotten Sundara pregnant, the gods had snatched up one son and replaced it with another one. The middle-aged man hoped with all the he was that both of his children, one on the brink of fame and the other barely just conceived, would come home to him safely.

* * *

After a long initial day of training, Clove found her mood elevated. If only a little a bit. Throwing knives, stealth, intimidation, these were things she'd long mastered. Parading around in silly costumes or selling herself to a bunch of blathering idiots, not as much.

If she'd been back at the annex, she'd have already scripted out several things about her competitors: preferred weapons, fighting style, and apparent weaknesses. Truthfully, she'd been too wrapped up in the weapons to care much for the other tributes.

Clove's adrenaline levels had already vastly overpowered various alarms that had been triggered, but what importance were fancy costumes and parlor tricks when the other tributes were nothing more than twenty-two wonderfully delicate canvases for her to decorate?

She tried not to worry about Cato, who hadn't been exactly in his prime. Luckily, the others were so terribly bland and inconceivably untalented that he must have looked incredible in contrast. For the sake of the truce and alliance, the two had begun doing most work outside of specialized weaponry together. Resisting the urge to kiss him or play around had been near impossible.

Why the did that idiot hate her, again?

Clove's thoughts were unpleasantly interrupted as she rose to answer a knock at the door. Felix stood there, his black hair mussed. "I want to apologize for what I said this morning. It was unprofessional and unseemly. I do respect your abilities and value your opinions. At least, to an extent."

It was hard not to see him as the troubled twelve year old. A half decade since his last apology. It made her itch uncomfortably.

"It's your vacillation that bugs me most," the grumpy brunette responded, wiping the image of him banging his head against the wall miserably from her memory.

He leaned his head against the door frame, "You remember what I said all those years ago? I promised to protect you, and I intended to keep my promise. Things just got complicated with Cato involved."

She wasn't welcome to having this conversation in the midst of a very public apartment. Clove gestured for him to come in, before slamming the door shut, and gritting out, "You think I don't understand complicated?"

Felix actually laughed, "You're probably the textbook definition. This just sucks."

Clove scowled at his nonchalance, before becoming deadly silent. It took her a whole thirty seconds to reply, in which Felix wondered to himself if he was even the slightest bit redeemable. Not in Clove's eyes, apparently. "I'm sorry I insulted your parents," Clove said finally. "I didn't know you were an orphan."

The poignancy of her apology took him by surprise. Felix had to swallow his sadness and shut his eyes to keep them from betraying him. Quietly, he explained, "My parents weren't nice people, but they worked hard, and that's something I always admired about them. So, thanks."

Clove sat on her bed, letting out a tired sigh, "This little love circle bullshit doesn't change how much I fucking hate you."

"Feeling's mutual, bitch," he said, slightly grinning.

"Good," she said with a hint of a smirk, before becoming serious, "There are things I need to talk to you about."

He ran a hand through his dripping hair, "Problems already, H?"

The exhausted expression on her face warned against any snarky remarks, "Do you remember Mars?"

"I remember after he lost that I was the only person Cato would spend time with," he offered.

"Well, Cato doesn't seem to remember him at all. That's pretty problematic considering Cato's biggest motive in coming here is reclaiming the tombstone's honor."

Felix's eyes lit up with acknowledgement, and he nodded, "Well, there's a reason why they don't send tributes with a continuing supply."

"Probably not a good one," she scoffed.

He rubbed his head soothingly, "Attachments hold you back. I don't know- like, in your weakest moments, thinking about your cute little niece or older sister can lead to some pretty bad decisions."

"So that's it?" Clove demanded, "He's never going to remember his brother again?"

"You could probably condition him to remember, but really that's the least of your worries right now."

She bit her tongue to hide her nerves, "He's not going to forget how to fight, is he?"

Felix shook his head, "For once, luck is on his side. He won't forget physical actions, but he'll experience hallucinations and develop gaps in memory. I'd theorize that if you weren't right beside him, he'd have forgotten you already."

Denial flashed in Clove's face, "You're wrong. Cato would never-"

"I get why you like him, alright? He's a hard worker, and makes others want to work harder. He's energetic, introspective, and resilient, but you seem to be forgetting that only one of you will make it out."

"Yeah," Clove agreed, balling her hands, "And I can't stand the idea of him forgetting me and moving onto some paltry redhead with big tits and no head."

"Better then a brunette with no tits and a fat head."

Clove groaned, throwing a pen at his head, "Get out."

"Dinner's in ten. Try to keep your unrefined mannerisms away from the table, alright?" He teased, laughing as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

_One day. Breathe. One day until private sessions. Just breathe._

Kailani had been waiting for five or six minutes to utilize the climbing station. The terrain in District Four was mostly flat, as the whole district was situated at sea level. The dark-haired sixteen year old wanted every advantage possible and would be visiting each station to brush up on as much as she could. Unfortunately, the male tribute from Twelve was taking his sweet time clinging to the rope for his dear life.

Cato, Clove, and Marvel were off to the side, watching with amusement as he struggled up the rope. She'd have found it cruel, but honestly, she didn't know the boy from Twelve and in the end, he was just another obstacle for her to overcome.

After several minutes, the boy finally fell to the ground with a groan and his district partner raced to his side. Now, she was interesting. Had Twelve ever had a volunteer before? Kailani wasn't sure. One thing she knew was that she would have never volunteered for her sister. or her brother. or anyone else. She'd have cried for days when they lost, but the morally despicable part of her chimed 'better them than you.'

The volunteer from Twelve whispered into his ear and he shook his head. Kailani ignored them, finally happy to have the climbing station to herself. She began to ascend the rope with moderate difficulty, but to her fortune was much more graceful in her movements than the previous user had been. Kailani was just about to turn over when she heard a clanking from behind her.

She turned wildly towards the sound, swinging swiftly from side to side. The tan-skinned girl couldn't be sure, but it seemed that the boy from Twelve was more than met the eye. He'd grabbed a 100 pound weight and thrown it clear across the room.

Cato and Clove were smirking like little sociopaths, nothing unusual for the impenetrable duo, while Marvel only eyed the the tribute with a satisfied expression on his face.

Marvel crept her out, even more than Cato and Clove. Maybe it was his unfitting enthusiasm despite the situation they were in or the way he bragged about his fiance, but she'd begun to wonder if he even knew what the hell he was doing. Would he become more of a hindrance than a help in their future journey together? She hoped not.

Rio was at the knot-tying station, quietly chatting with the instructor. She sighed to herself. He couldn't resign himself to death so quickly. Sure, she'd eliminate him if it came down to the two of them, but he was young, had turned thirteen on the day of the reaping, and she'd have a hard time keeping his death off her conscience. _Be grateful they let him in, _Finnick had whispered to her.

_I wouldn't be so sure, Finnick, _she thought to herself.

Kailani wasn't surprised to see Glimmer missing. The elder girl only appeared when she wanted to chat up the pack leader, Cato.

The amusing thing- Well, it would have been amusing if most of them wouldn't be dead a month from now - was that everyone thought Cato was in charge. To the blind eye, it might have been hard to discern, but Clove was the real leader. The brutal blonde boy was putty in her hands, despite his less than complicit behavior at her requests.

It made her wonder. If you could break one, how long would it take for the other to follow? With her luck, she would never know.

* * *

As the pair traveled towards the elevator, the air around them had stagnated. Without Marvel or Glimmer to fill every moment of silence, it'd become unbearable.

"Impressive work today," Cato complimented offhandedly.

Clove shrugged, "Nothing you haven't seen before."

He shook his head, disagreeing, "It's like you belong here. Personally, I think you should have up and moved here years ago." The urgency in his tone was foreign, so she swept it to the side.

"So I could have bubblegum pink hair and tacky tattoos of unicorns and dolphins? As if I could pass up such a wonderful opportunity!"

Cato laughed and drew in closer to her. In his arms, she was home, he thought. With a flirtatious smirk, he leaned in and Clove swiftly withdrew, biting her lip, and not daring to look directly at him. "Uh...I'll see you later. Bye."

The blonde frowned, "What did I do now?"

* * *

**AN** - Baby Elroy will serve as a plot point in the AU ending I write after the conclusion of the story. Cato's father (Orion Elroy) is 45, Oliver is 4, and Sundara is 34.

**Please review!** It means a lot to me.


	34. The Petulant Child

Always mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy if possible.

- Thomas J. Jackson

* * *

**This** is the second update in two days. If you were gone yesterday, make sure to read chapter 33 first!

* * *

"It was the stupidest- I didn't- ahahaha."

The curly-haired seventeen year old began laughing hysterically, unable to keep his amusement to himself. Maybe that was his tactic, annoying people to death, that is.

"I hate you, Marvel. You're such a petulant brat," Glimmer snapped back, loud enough for their small-knit group to hear, but not quite loud enough to arouse suspicion in the other tributes.

Rio glanced up, confused, "What are they fighting about?"

He'd been asking Kailani, but Cato answered before she got the opportunity, "Something about Glimmer's television show. Not that it's relevant to WHAT WE'RE DOING RIGHT NOW." His volume increased as he tried to get Marvel's attention. The self-satisfied teen grinned at him.

"You should have seen it, man! Marsha - that's Glimmer's character - and her fuckbuddy David tail the janitor for a good thirty-five minutes, thinking he's the diamond thief. Yeah, because if I had access to priceless diamonds, the first thing I'd do is to keep my day job as a janitor!"

Glimmer glowered, reorganizing her salad in different patterns. Finally, Cato grew tired of the District One pair, "Glimmer, go get more food."

She looked up, "For who? You?"

"No, not for me. I-" he pointed to his plate, "have plenty of food. You don't."

She shook her head uncomfortably, offering him a smile, "I'm not really hungry."

"Tough shit. You need to pack on more weight." She remained in place until he gave her a malicious scowl. One look was all she needed, before she quickly stood and moved towards the food carts, "And no more damn salads!"

The outline tributes, who were sitting by themselves (aside from Twelve), gawked. The male from Eleven was the only who paid them no attention. He didn't pay anyone attention. One glare from Cato sent the rest of them right back to fixating miserably on the food in front of them.

Clove grew irritated with him. Did he really have to play mother hen here of all places? Who cared how much food Glimmer ate? In a week's time, she'd hopefully be dead and no longer their problem.

Marvel continued to explain Diamond Heist to Kailani, complaining about the characters' names, "What kind of name is Marsha?" and other plot holes. The dark-haired sixteen year old didn't even feign the slightest bit of interest, but he didn't seem to care. If it had been her, Clove would have told him off hours ago. Maybe not as garishly at Glimmer, but still, all that boy was was a mouthpiece and mop-top of curly hair.

Rio, as usual, ate his food quietly and contributed very little to the discussion. She wondered how angry Cato would be if she took the kid out as soon as they got to the cornucopia, because really, what the hell was he doing in the trained alliance to begin with? Cato had really begun to lose his mind.

Clove didn't have to watch Cato to know he was still fixated on making sure Glimmer ate. It was against his conscience to let anyone starve and the idea of someone willing doing that to themselves appalled him. It made her think back to of the nights where they'd sit together and talk, with his blonde hair matted by sweat, desperately attempting to keep his insecurities at bay. A maternal instinct arose from the image of the 9-year-old boy holding himself, striving to keep food down, and smiling reassuringly at her every concern.

When Glimmer returned to the table and began to reluctantly eat, Cato looked back to her, a quick smile on his lips. It then vanished as quickly as it'd appeared.

* * *

If looks could kill, Kailani would have bleeding out eons ago. Clove couldn't believe her rotten luck. The little sneak had dumped Glimmer on her, announcing, "I've helped her wilderness training as much as I could, but I think she could use some weapons training, and there's no weapon more common in the arena than knives."

_Yeah, fuck you, you lazy bitch, _Clove thought bitterly.

Glimmer, plainly speaking, was a millstone. A pretty millstone, yes, but other than her status as another mouth to feed, she didn't contribute much. Most of the time, Clove could handle the girl dangling around Cato, because, well, hey, at least she wasn't hanging around her, but right now, District Four was right.  
Glimmer needed to be more than just a pretty face or no one would take them seriously.

So, Clove pulled herself together, made five throws, all unsurprisingly on their marks, and painfully gave a handful of knives to Glimmer.

"But, I'm not good with knives."

"You're not good at anything!" Clove told her, fed up at her complaints.

"I'm good at-" Glimmer stopped and less defensively, admitted, "I do most of my own stunts."

Clove held one of her knives coyly, and gave the girl an intimidating smirk, "Evasive combat can only protect you so long, sparkle shine. Now get to it."

Glimmer's chest tightened and her palms began to sweat. Anxious, she began to throw the knives. One hit the outer rim. The other four clanked heavily to the floor.

"And it's even better with a moving target," Clove taunted with a sadistic, self-satisfied smirk.

The blonde girl pulled her fishtail braids behind her, closed her eyes, and pretended that she was Marsha. When she opened her eyes, she stomped over the archery station, grabbed a silver bow and quiver of arrows, and forced herself into a state of absolution. Taking a step back, she got into stance, and released the arrow.

It hit as close to the center as she was going to get, and Glimmer nearly fell to the floor with gratitude.

Clove snorted, "You're an archer."

Glimmer turned back to her, waiting for the rest of her analysis.

"Archery is stupid."

The blonde girl continued to stand confidently. Who cared what the little midget thought, anyways? Maybe the odds were in her favor after all. "Your partner would have been a great addition to our cast. He's _very_ attractive," Glimmer remarked, watching him with a heated expression as he sliced determinately at the practice dummies.

"Cato's mine."

"Does he know that?" Glimmer asked, not bothering to look back at Clove, "Because from what I've observed, I doubt he'd agree."

Clove gave the taller girl an icy glare, "Even if he didn't, you'd never have a chance with him."

"Oh yeah, and why is that? Hmm? I might be dead next week, but I wouldn't mind being done in by him, if you know what I mean."

The brunette scowled, ready to leap at the other girl at any given moment, "Well, for starters, you're not nearly smart enough to keep up a conversation with a philosopher like darling ol' Cato."

"Don't worry," Glimmer said with a wink, "There wouldn't be any talking necessary for what we'd be doing."

"If you're so desperate for a fuck, hop onto Marvel. Cato is not some object to be coveted by the likes of you."

Glimmer scoffed, "Marvel's a loser. His fiance obviously thinks he's going to die, and on the off chance that he doesn't, she'll resent him for the rest of her life."

The younger girl ignored Glimmer's assessment of Marvel and continued.

"If you're so sure you're going to die, then why are you even here?" Clove demanded indignantly, "This is the opportunity of a lifetime and you're treating it like it's not even worth your time. You have the chance to fight for honor, wealth, and prestige and your biggest concern is some pretty boy you don't even know a single thing about."

With a regal bitterness, Glimmer grit out, "I don't want to be here! I became an actress to make mother dearest happy, counted every single gram to keep father happy, and now I'm _here_ to ensure my producers stay happy."

She didn't dare let Clove interrupt, "It's been in my contract since day 1 and no one ever told me. And you know why? Because nobody cares what happens to me. No one ever has. So I'm going to enjoy my last few days and keep myself happy, and I dare you to get in the way, little girl."

Instead of saying all the immediate thoughts that came to mind, like: How dare you make such a blasphemous statement? I don't want to be here either, and you've spent too much time on television, she just let out a sigh and remarked:

"Wow. You're even more pathetic than I thought."

* * *

"Where have you been?" Athena inquired from seat aside the couch. Cato and Clove turned around to find their other mentor standing with a sort of grim smile on his face.

He brushed them off casually, "Been working up the sponsor magic. We managed to secure a few, so good effort, team. I'm going to change and then I'll come watch the scores with you."

Felix retreated to his room, where he dropped onto the bed and curled up into a ball under the sheets. His throat was scratchy, dry, and the 17-year-old brushed his thumb comfortingly over his throat. He rubbed furiously at his eyes, before stripping of his previous attire. His skin, entirely unblemished, mocked him. It would have been more comforting to see bruises, wounds, and love bites. At least he'd have proof that it wasn't all just happening in his head.

Instead, he looked exactly the same. Felix rummaged through the wardrobe, before pulling out a long-sleeved olive green t-shirt - the least flashy he could find - and a pair of black sweatpants. Quietly, he asked the avox to fetch the group a couple pitchers of water, before he sat down next to Cato, who immediately gave him a questioning look.

"What score do you think you earned?" he asked the duo. They looked at each other, not exactly sure how to answer. If it had been a brighter context, he would have laughed at how easily distracted they were.

"At least a 9," Clove said, finally. Cato shrugged, but did not speak, not daring to be wrong.

Michaelis and Flora entered quietly and sat on the couch perpendicular to the three teenagers. Grateful that Xena and the rest of prep team were missing in action, Felix made himself comfortable while Malee began to chat cheerfully with Michaelis.

At this point, Cato and Clove had had dinner along with the rest of the team. Felix considered ordering food, but thought of Malee's clucking face and decided it could wait.

Caesar Flickerman's face appeared on-screen and he gave a basic introduction to the scoring system. The range, he said, is between 1 and 12. A score of one is a near-guarantee of bloodbath, and a twelve is unfathomably high.

On his end, Felix knew that the alliance typically scored between 7 and 10.

Marvel Sinclair's photo appeared first and he was given a 9.

"Guess that do-do brain won't be so useless after all," Clove commented.

Felix was just about to ask how dumb she thinks Marvel was - because, after all, feigning intelligence was its own form of strategy - before Clove let out a scowl at Glimmer Maxwell's photo. She'd earned an 8. It was acceptable, but not remarkable.

His stomach clenched as Cato's photo appeared on screen, with a score of... ten! Felix let out a breath. First, he was annoyed, because he earned a 10 last year and he'd always thought that was exponential, but then he was grateful. The more sponsors he could secure without going to _desperate measures_, the better.

Clove's score flashed afterwards. The brunette tried to hide her excitement and act uninterested, but she failed on all accounts. She covered her mouth, but he could by the arch in her cheekbones that she was smiling, and he tried to be happy for her.

The tributes from Three earned considerably lower scores, and the last members of the tribute alliance, Kailani and Rio, earned a 9 and a 6. Out of respect, they waited through the other tributes. Nothing notable came up, well, not until towards the end. Rue, from District Eleven, earned a 7. Her partner, Thresh, earned a 9.

His tributes had offered Thresh a spot in the alliance, even sent in Glimmer to recruit him, but (and Clove had laughed when she'd told him this) Thresh had assertively informed her that she was a terrible person and that she couldn't hide it behind a pretty face.

Peeta, from District Twelve, got an 8. "That's the one who did the heavy lifting, yes?" Athena inquired.

"Even if he's strong, he'll hesitate," Clove told her mentor straight away.

"Yes, and we don't want the alliance any bigger than it already is," Athena agreed, giving Cato a dirty look. To his luck, Cato didn't rat him out, but it was only a matter of time.

"And from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen, with a score of 11."

The sound of breaking glass woke Felix out of his stupor. He turned immediately to the left. Cato, who looked to be calming himself down, was gaping at Clove. Once all eyes were on the sixteen year old girl, she took a sharp intake of air, and fled.

* * *

Magnilda had not watched the chariot rides. She hadn't watched the gamemaker scores either. It would take a miracle to absolve her of the anxiety she bared.

Instead, she sat on her bed and read through every strategy textbook she owned. Then, she read through all of Clove's books as well. The twelve-year-old figured she'd need to, considering she apparently had the world's worst luck.

Callan would come by sometimes, sit with her, hold her hand, whisper sweet things. She didn't bother wasting her energy to tell him she found it all so very annoying. As if hand holding was going to fix the fact that Cato and Clove would inevitably end up killing each other. The fourteen year old just didn't know what he was doing.

Dicey, Dicey, Dicey. He hadn't even attempted to be comforting. Mostly he just came around and ranted. Spoke of how much he hated the Cato and Clove for keeping their feelings to themselves for long, how he wished he had never become their friend in the first place, how he hoped their supplies would infiltrated by wild beavers. Sometimes, he came close to crying. She'd cried herself out. There were no more tears for the young girl.

It'd been five days.

The furious knocking at her door had become a regular, but unwelcome part of her daily routine, "Go away, Cal!" she snapped. Her visitor, who just happened to be Nero and not her boyfriend, unlocked the door without her permission. She looked at him grimly, sarcastically inquiring, "Did she die already?"

"Have you seen the scores yet?"

"Why are you asking? You know the answer."

Nero gave Magnilda a weary look, "She got a 10."

"And Cato?"

"Him too."

With a falsetto enthusiasm, she chirped back, "Great! I'm going back to bed now."

Nero sighed. She hated when he did that, because it was exaggerated, condescending, and impatient. As if he were better than you, "Clove hasn't lost yet, alright. The games haven't even started yet and the gamemakers seem to think she's just as good as Cato."

"So, what? I'm just supposed to pretend this is all okay because Clove got a ten? Because it's not. You and Callan and Halle and whoever damn else can pretend all you want that this'll have a happy ending, but it won't."

Relieving the burden from off her chest helped, if only just a smidgen. She looked at Nero, seeking advice, "What am I supposed to do? All I do all day is think of the ways in which they'll kill each other. Yesterday, I had a dream where Cato sliced off my sister's breasts and fed them to wild animals."

"He wouldn't do that."

Frustrated, she snapped, "You're missing the point! Clove's going to die, and nothing you say will change that, so just stop! I don't want to be cheered up or talked down to."

Nero bobbed his head in agreement, then added, "Don't you think you should be strong for her, then? Clove will finally be with Aunt Elma. She'll finally be home, Nel!"

Outraged, the preteen girl tackled the ash-haired teen to the ground. "You, of all people, don't know anything about my mom, so don't pretend for even a second that you understand what we went through. Your dad was a complacent loser! He listened and did what he was told, and when they said die, he tripped over himself to please them. You-you-you don't-"

She fell to her knees, crying. Nero held his arm, self-soothing. The worst part, Nero figured, was that with a competitor like Katniss Everdeen, there was a possibility that neither Cato nor Clove would be returning home, and that was something he didn't have the heart to tell her yet.

* * *

**AN** - Glimmer was screaming at me to give her some screen time, so here you go. Sometimes I start to believe that I'm overthinking this story. If you ever have any questions and they're not spoiler-related, ask and I'll clarify in the following chapter.

**Please review**! It means a lot to me :)


	35. The Decorated Storyteller

I want to hide the truth  
I want to shelter you  
But with the beast inside  
There's nowhere we can hide  
No matter what we breed  
We still are made of greed  
This is my kingdom come

- Imagine Dragons (Demons)

* * *

Cato tailed after the Clove, barely blocking the door to her bed chambers from shutting with the heel of his foot. He opened it to allow himself in and then closed it behind him, looking at Clove with a stunned expression. He'd seen her angry hundreds of times, hell, maybe even thousands, but in front of their training superiors? Very few times.

"Come here to make fun?"

The blonde boy had no pity, only advice, "Muddling around in self-misery isn't going to help."

She ignored his admonitions and instead picked up a spiral bound notebook from the side table. The brunette leafed through the pages, looking for any footnotes she may have created in her haste on the tribute from District Twelve, about Katniss Everdeen.

"That stuff doesn't matter," Cato told her, prying the book from her hand gently and flinging it towards the dresser, "Now, let's discuss this rationally. How do you think Knots got her 11?"

In a pesky, bitter tone, she sweetly replied, "Maybe she pulled a Glimmer."

"So you think she's an archer?"

"Not exactly what I meant," Clove muttered.

Cato crossed his arms, "Demeaning the pack isn't going to win you any favors, or any sponsors."

The brunette barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes, "If you paid attention, you'd realize you're the only one who likes her."

He chuckled at the inflection in her, the 11 attained by Twelve temporarily forgotten, "Is that jealousy, Clove?" Cato smirked, walking closer to his district partner for a better glance, "I told you before, I'm not interested in Glimmer. She just looks so much like my mother..."

"In case no one's informed you, gazing intensely at your mother isn't normal. It might be misinterpreted as something else entirely."

"I'm keeping tabs on the pack, Clove! That's what a good leader does."

"You do realize you have to kill them all, right?" Clove asked, worn out from his deranged mannerisms, "This isn't wilderness camp."

"Nothing would make me happier," he replied. As he leaned in to make another smart remark, Clove flinched, and he lost his playful tone, grumbling defensively, "Why do you keep doing that!"

Unable to look at him, she shot back, "I'm not doing anything!"

"You keep looking at me like I'm going rip you limb from limb. Wipe the doe-eyed, pathetic look off your face, kid. We're not in the arena yet, dammit!"

"I can't help that every single second you're close to me I keep wondering if you're going to do it all over again. If you're going to..." Any moment now he wondered if she'd faint from anxiety or exhaustion.

Unsure what to do, he grabbed the girl's arm, and demanded, "What are you talking about? I haven't done anything, Clove."

Outraged, she pulled her arm away and shouted, "You tore my shirt open and tried to make me have sex with you. I didn't just imagine that! and you trying to play it off isn't going to change what you did, Cato Daveen Elroy!"

"I would never-" he began to defend himself.

"What?" she challenged scathingly, "You'd never hurt me? Too late. You already did."

And the sad thing was that Clove's words were absolutely meaningless. Her tone, posture, even her ferocity didn't mean much. That could all be staged, faked. Instead, it was the small, fearful look in her eyes that told him the entire story. The way she looked at him as if he'd destroyed something very small in her.

He could tell. He'd done something terrible, committed an immeasurable grievance against her, but he couldn't remember. Awkwardly, he stepped back, "Clovey, stop crying. Stop. Please."

Clove hissed at him angrily, "I'm sorry my feelings are an inconvenience for you!"

"You have nothing to be afraid of. I promise I would never-"

"Stop saying that!" she snapped, "You already did! You tried to hurt me in a way I could never hurt you back. Well, I hope you're fucking happy! You win, Cato. You made your point, whatever the hell it was."

The blonde watched as she wiped away her tears angrily. Feeling very, very uncomfortable, Cato remained in his rigid posture. He'd followed her to make her feel better, but as usual, he'd ruined everything. Maybe even permanently.

"Clove," he began.

Interrupting, she muttered bitterly, "Do you know what's the worst part?" Her eyes full of bitterness, "You tried to make it my fault. I trusted you, I tried to be with you out of-" she swallowed, and spit the word out like an expletive, "_affection _and you returned the favor by treating me like litter adhered to the sole of your shoe."

Gaining more momentum, she gave him a heated glare, "We were best friends once! I guess I was the only one dumb enough to think that actually meant something."

"It does mean something!" he replied, confused, frantic. That was probably the most sincere thing he'd said all year.

With an icy glare, she gave him a stony look, and coolly corrected, "No, it doesn't."

* * *

Every night it was the same tone taunting him. The sharp nails glided down his chest, leaving scarlet, gaping marks in their wake. The set of his lower attire always made him sick.

Some nights, he cried himself back to sleep, an invisible, intangible coat of slime covering every inch of his skin.

Discarding his clothing and kicking them to the side, Cato stood up and picked out another pair of sleepwear. Rubbing his nose, he let out a sleepy yawn.

He'd been retiring to bed early each night to ensure he'd get at least a few hours of good sleep. A few days, he'd been fortunate. The rest, he'd suffered through the sleepless nights due to mixed anxiety, aches, and other side effects of detox.

On this night in particular, his nightmares had been particularly disturbing. It made him want to laugh, to scoff.

Cato had seen horrible things before. Ghastly images of inner anatomy dangling out of tributes' chests, bathtubs filled to the brim with blood, and even the corpses of dead children. He had tried not to see Oliver in every surface of the dark-haired child he'd once been forced to torture as a part of candidacy training.

No, what had taken a hold of him on this night was the image of Clove standing, blouse torn, absolutely terrified, and unable to speak. Though he'd seen it in a dream, he knew every single pixel was true to what had happened. It sent a shiver down his spine. Which in its own right was peculiar. He thought nothing shocked him anymore.

Cato attempted to counteract the image with more pleasant memories: His brother bringing home a brownie for his eighth birthday (that had been a nice memory to get back and he made a note to thank Clove), throwing baseballs with Dicey (they'd done this all their lives), making fun of all the dumb things Nero's girlfriend said with Felix, the first time he met Clove,

...

He couldn't remember.

It was almost as if the particular memory had been sealed off in a password-protected, titanium-reinforced vault.

_No, no, no._ He started to panic._ This can't happen! _He began to shake angrily, terrified as to what would happen to his mind if he forgot the girl entirely. _That won't happen. She's right next door. As if you could forget the 120 pound pain in the ass. _

He needed to see her. Though one side of him warned him to 'forget her,' the other vehemently opposed the idea, citing several reasons why that would be a bad decision. He didn't need several reasons, though. He only needed one. Clove was his, just as much as he was entirely hers.

Or at least, that was his reasoning when he pounded on her door with no concern for Malee, Felix, or Athena.

Clove opened the door, her dark hair loosely flowing down her back, a lime green sports bra on, and a pair of black sweatpants clinging to her hips. As soon as she saw his eyes travel, she crossed her arms, and gave him a warning glance. The loathing still lingered in her eyes, but it'd happened too fast. She couldn't assume the mask quickly enough.

"I thought you were sleeping."

"Yeah, I was."

He stood there, transfixed. When had everything become so complicated? He'd needed to see Clove. He'd seen Clove. Why hadn't he left yet?

She gave him a strange, bothered look, "What's wrong with you?"

_Everything, _his subconscious supplied, but that seemed too dramatic an answer for the conversational nature of her question. Guilt covered every surface of the boy's face. From the redness in his eyes to the soreness in his throat, his mood had entirely shifted. Too much had caught up with him one night.

"If I'd been in the right mind, I'd never have done it. I promise."

"Your promises don't really mean much, Cato. Why can't you assume responsibility for once in your life?" she told him, not unkindly, but certainly unsympathetic.

When he didn't reply, she added, "It's not fair to me that you think an apology is going to take back what you did. I know that it's not like you to act _that_ way, but you've changed. Sometimes beyond my understanding."

He looked at her, and with a grainy, quiet voice remarked, "I have to hope that I'm more than what everyone else thinks I am. That I'm not the bad guy. That I'm just_ a guy_."

Clove didn't say anything in return and only continued her sketch of Rio. "That's really good," Cato told her. She'd captured the terrified glint in the thirteen year old's eyes and penned it in magnificently.

Her silence served as an instant source of frustration for the blonde teen, "How do I earn your forgiveness?"

"My forgiveness isn't really worth much," she informed him. "Two weeks from now I'll be dead and none of this will really matter."

He wanted to shake the girl and tell her not to give in so easily, but he'd never been the self-sacrificing type, "Can we just...not talk about the games?"

The brunette studied him, humorless amusement on her lips, "That'd be a first."

"Yeah, it would be."

He leaned against the wall and pulled his arms behind his head, "Do me a favor?" Cato asked.

Clove moved towards the bed, resting the pen on the notebook, and carefully welcomed him to sit with her, "That depends on you."

Cato followed her to the bed, sitting beside her. Familiarity overrode the ambiguity of their relationship. They'd spent their whole lives side by side. Kissing her forehead - several unspoken apologies in the act - he requested, "Tell me the story of how we first met."

She resigned herself to the moment, letting all that had had happened to them fall to the wayside, and laid her head against his shoulder, "It's pretty dry."

"Clove, I can't remember." he grazed his teeth lightly against his lips.

"Alright, alright," she told him, waving him off, "Don't cry, small fry."

Cato gave her a mix expression of bemusement and sarcastic alarm, "You're starting to sound like me."

"Maybe if I went back to 6th grade grammar," she jabbed.

"Tell the story, short stack," Cato shot back.

"Wellllll-" she exaggerated, "About a decade or so ago, I'd just begun my first day at the Annex. I had managed to gain the respect of each of the instructors, and they said to one another 'Clove Holloway, now she's a born winner. She's-'"

Cato started to laugh, "I lost my memory, not my mind. Nice try, cutes."

She smacked the back of the her hand against his chest with a devilish grin. God was she fantastic. _Don't, _the rational part of his mind reprimanded.

"You're missing the best part!" she complained, huffing indignantly.

"Is that so?"

"After they handed me the regal crown and declared me queen, I left class in search of a royal meal," she leaned away and broke off from him, tearing down the fourth wall, "Queens have to eat too, you know."

This seemed important, but he couldn't imagine why, "But," she chastised, "I found the court jester resting in an empty hallway and rummaging through my things. I wasn't sure how to approach the young lad. I sat by his side to make sure he was comfortable with my presence."

"How kind of you, your highness," he interrupted, lightly.

Clove nodded fervently, "I'll have you know that I was a very just and fair ruler. Still, the jester broke proper court etiquette. Since it was his first infraction, I decided to show mercy and not punish him. Instead, I extended my hand in friendship and as a dowry, gave the small lad a bounty of trail mix."

The blonde boy's vision sharpened and suddenly everything came back to him at once. Apparently, there had been a lot he'd forgotten. Like how utterly infatuated he'd been with her and the softness of her lips. But it was too late for that. In day or so's time, the games would begin.

"Now the court jester was a shy fellow. I didn't see him much after that, except when fulfilling the dowry. So, of course, I decided that must change."

Clove pulled him closer to her, "And so I began to attend the jester's performances. To my surprise, the young lad was quite talented. An underdog, but certainly a promising figure," she continued, an overwhelming smile on her face.

It was a time like this that he wished he had Dicey at his side. His best friend, despite his brash nature and casual behavior, always knew how to handle the emotionally-intensive moments. His heart felt about ready to burst out of his chest.

"You were invited into a tight-knit group that included a princess, a medic, and a military general. For a few years, the two of us met in secrecy, and things were docile." She bit on the nail of her pointer finger, deciding how to develop the story.

Docile. Now, that didn't seem even remotely believable.

She wagged an accusing finger at him, "However, one day, a queen from the dueling kingdom, _Hellery_, tried to work her way in as a Trojan horse. You and your foolish comrades fell to her side and betrayed me. Because you see, I'd gravely injured Hellery's sister in combat, and Hellery's sister was her most prized knight."

As the blonde sat there, trying to decide how to overcome the unfathomable sadness that enveloped him, a simple sentiment echoed (in Dicey's voice no less) in his head, _Appreciate what you have left. Oh, and apologize dickhole. _

Cato let out a laugh and Clove gave him a funny face, "Care to share with the rest of us, Mr. Elroy?"

"No, no. Sorry, keep going. I'm listening."

Clove nodded, "I fell very ill. My prized throwing hand had been smashed to bits, so I took to strategy games. One of the members of your group, a princess of the court, a very violent, red-haired child, approached me in my chambers and grieved. We made peace."

He hadn't known that. That Dicey had apologized to Clove. Then again, Dicey apologized for anything and everything, so maybe that didn't mean much.

"Now, you, your apology came later. Much, much later, but it was the small gestures that really spoke to me. After the prized knight's wounds healed, you traveled to a long distance to Hellery's castle, under the guise of switched alliances, and you broke Sir. Paxton's arm."

Cato blinked, "I don't remember telling you that."

She smirked, again breaking the 4th wall, "If you think for a second Paxton Watson can keep a secret, then you might be better off as a court jester."

Clove moved out of his hold and moved to the other side of the bed, laying down. She patted the pillow beside her and Cato laid beside her, "And what happened next?" he asked, his eyelids slipping.

"We all lived happily ever after behind indomitable castle walls," she yawned.

Snuggling closer to her, he added sleepily, "Sounds like my sort of story."

* * *

**AN** - This chapter was hard to craft, because Cato's made a lot of mistakes. Not that Clove is blameless, because she's got a big mouth and horrendous outlook, but Cato's been more physically problematic because he's been throwing his weight around so to speak, and I needed them to come together and resolve at least some of their conflicts.

Anla' shok, I'll get more into Felix's mindset as the games unfold.

**Please review**. It means a lot to me.


	36. The Questioneer

I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.

- Mother Teresa

* * *

**If you were offline on Saturday, read chapter 35 first. This is a bonus scene supplementing that one.**

* * *

Clove was the first to wake the next day. Cato had innocuously moved away from her and wrapped his muscular arms around an over-sized pillow. While at rest, his features weren't marred by stress, anxiety, or anger. Despite this, the blonde's face remained angular and pointed. It wasn't the features on his face that made him look more vulnerable, though.

It was the flat, unkempt hair that did her in. At ten or eleven, he'd begun to style his hair. Before that, his hair had laid flat against his features, as it did now. Leaning in closer, Clove brushed a few strands out of his face and gently stroked his hair. The boy mumbled something in his sleep, before nuzzling closer to the pillow.

She hadn't forgiven him yet.

Instead, Clove had temporarily purged the foul memory from her conscience. It had been difficult to say the least. Still, she was tired of playing these mind games. He was important to her. To even feign the semblance of not caring for him would be moronic. He'd been her first friend and even if that didn't mean anything to him, it meant a hell of a lot to her.

The sixteen year old girl wasn't sure what the next step was. How would she know if he wanted to resume their friendship? For all she knew, the whole thing may have been a simple lapse in judgement brought on by reoccurring insomnia, loneliness, and mental instability.

Cato had been incredibly out of sorts lately. And wasn't that putting it mildly?

Clove suspected, as Felix had dubbed 'best case scenario', that he'd completed an entire cycle of the steroidal drugs. The question of how far back he'd been taking them still plagued her mind. Had he already begun the regimen when she'd tried to apologize to him all those many months ago? The bigger question she had was 'did it really matter?'

Because, like it or not, they'd have both ended up in the same place anyways. Here, in the Capitol, about to fight to the death.

Still, she couldn't help feeling like last night had been _special. _Clove groaned, throwing a pillow against the wall in protest. She sounded like a romantic twit in some post-sex haze.

Cato was best her best friend, through thick and thin, from now until the end, and that's all there was to it. Her romantic feelings (she cringed) were relatively unimportant in the whole grand scheme of possibly dying and all.

That didn't stop Clove from standing up, draping the blanket over him, and whispering hoarsely,

"I missed you."

* * *

**AN** - You guys are such fantastic reviewers and I really appreciate that you take the time to be vocal about things you like, don't like, or the questions you have. It's especially helpful when clarifying or developing ideas for the following chapters. So, thank you so much!

Fun little fact: Clove's love confession (chapter 24) to Cato took place on Valentine's Day. Her birthday is February 4th, and in the beginning of the chapter, she narrates "It'd been ten days. Ten days too many."

The next chapter will be up Wednesday, 1:00 GMT (6:00 PM, Tuesday on the US West Coast) at the latest.  
**Please review!** I really appreciate it :)


	37. The Threat

The _thrill killer_ is a hedonistic type of person. This killer has made the connection between fatal violence and personal gratification. The primary motive of a thrill killer is to induce pain or terror in their victims, which provides stimulation and excitement for the killer. The thrill killer has no relationship with the victim before the incident. The victim is a stranger. However, this "stranger" may have been stalker for a period of time from a few moments to several weeks preceding the incident.

- Serial Murder by Ronald M. Holmes

* * *

**If **you were gone over the weekend, make sure to read chapters 35 and 36. There's some much needed Clato waiting for you guys.

* * *

"Despite what the District One wonder twins may tell their tributes, the point of the interviews isn't just to look nice and impress the Capitol. There's a lot more to it than that. You want the audience to become invested in your story, to root for you to win, so they'll need a hook."

She and Athena had been talking all morning. So far, they'd outlined the structures of the interviews.

Clove pondered to herself, "What sort of hook?"

Athena clicked her heel on the floor, "You have to get them to empathize with you. Mr. 73 did it best last year when he revealed that he was a precocious little orphan. They lapped it all up."

That wasn't even accurate in the slightest sense.

The gamemakers had angled the game to the female alliance's advantage. They'd been portrayed as strong, determined young women struggling against their oppressive male counterparts. Clove hadn't bought it for even a moment. Felix was more of an equal-opportunity asshole. Most days, he treated her with more respect than Cato, and it couldn't be under the guise of liking one another, because she fucking hated him and she'd gut him with a fork if he didn't reciprocate her feelings.

"So, let's start with who you are on the most basic level. Outside of training, what are your most enjoyed past times?"

Outside of training? She went to school. Did that count?

Athena further supplied, "Have you participated in any sports?"

"I was invited to try out for the varsity soccer team the spring before I started high school. That's about it." Clove told her with a half-shrug. That had been two years ago and she was still bitter.

"Okay, that's a start. How did that go?"

The brunette's posture sharpened in barely contained anger, "Felix thought it would cut into our private training sessions so he had some of his Level I goons kidnap me right before tryouts."

The redheaded woman smirked, "When that boy wants something, he'll do anything to get it."

Clove grimaced. Why did her idol have to be so depressingly blind?

"I can see this is a sensitive topic," Athena mocked her, failing to hide her amusement. Clove tried to imagine Cato working on the manners and style portion of the interview with Malee and that filled her with petty glee, "What about your family life? Tell me about the crying little sister."

Clove's eyes narrowed and her mentor quickly realized she would have to be coaxed, "I'm your mentor, Clove. You need to stop fighting against me, and work with me. I thought Mr. 73 said I was your idol. Doesn't that earn me a sliver of respect?"

The brunette's lips quirked up to the left, "Respect and trust are two different things entirely."

"Then, you're going to have to learn how to trust me. Felix and I are your lifelines in the arena. We are responsible for delegation of gifts and maintaining the utmost quality of your health."

It wasn't like Clove didn't already know this, but once the alliance split, Felix and Athena would ultimately have to choose whether to sponsor her or Cato, and she wasn't naive enough to believe for a minute that they'd pick her.

She would become the stepping stone, the sacrificial lamb. Cato would live on in glory, finally attaining vengeance for Mars. She felt like cracking when she thought of him celebrating without her. They'd always talked about the day they'd reunite and celebrate his reverence.

Athena ran a hand through her hair, annoyed, "I don't reap any rewards if you die, dear. Honestly, I don't even have to be here. If it had been Enobaria, she'd have yanked out half of your hair by now."

"Magnilda is twelve. Thirteen in less than a month."

"Caesar will want more. Anecdotes and personality traits. Things that will make the audience want to reunite you with your precious sister. I can guarantee you that Katniss Everdeen's sister will be brought up in her interview, and right now, she's a threat. An 11 is unheard of, but combined with stage presence, she could pose a greater danger to you and by extension, you partner."

This only served to remind Clove how little she knew about Twelve, which in retrospect infuriated her. She had paid her no attention, instead letting Cato play his sick games of cat and mouse, and what had that gotten her? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Though, it'd been delectable to watch the idiot on fire squirm.

"What is your proudest moment as a sister?"

"Watching her kill Halston Rooney. He was cursed to a casket from the first minute Magnie picked up the wooden flail."

Athena rolled her eyes, "If you tell Caesar Flickerman that, the Capitol audience will cry. But it will not be from sympathy. They will deem you a witch and burn you at the stake. Now, does that sound fun, Miss Holloway?"

Clove wanted to ask if the Capitol realized that they cheer year after year for 24 children to unwillingly fight to the death. Because if so, why would one girl honorably eliminating a traitor be considered the equivalency of witchcraft? What planet were these loons on, with thinking like that?

"What's my angle?"

For years, she and Felix had gone through various stages of possible angles.

The first angle had been 'innocent, then deadly,' but Johanna Mason had utilized that already. Then, the angle had been 'sociopathic child.' Despite it trivializing her entire character, it'd been the most enjoyable to portray, and she liked the idea of haunting the nightmares of spoiled Capitolites. Afterwards, it was 'strategic genius,' but this would have been under the guise of working with Kyler Gunner as a tribute partner. He was too casually friendly to care if she assumed the leadership position.

"Well," Athena said with sugary sweetness, "Since you're so partial to sarcasm, Felix and I decided that you're going to be sarcastic, with a little bit of sweetness."

It was her. Well, if you removed all the fluff and complexities. Sarcastic, but sweet. Somewhere, deep, deep down. It wasn't as fun a role as say, 'sociopathic child,' but at least it wouldn't take any extra effort. Clove would be saving all her extra energy for the arena, not some pesky interview with a decrepit man devoid of all dignity.

"Back to your sister," the woman redirected.

"The little brat's pretty chatty, energetic, enjoys making other people happy, but she's also strong-willed, defiant. Dependable, sturdy, but also a bit chaotic. In a few years, she'd be an amazing tribute."

Athena nodded her approval and continued to inquire about various areas of her life and personal history.

It was all terribly boring. Her mentor had really tried to make her come off as interesting, but her life was an unending cycle of classes and then courses. Felix had stolen five years of her life. He'd stopped her from playing soccer and even burned her sketchbook to ashes, citing it as a 'distraction.' When she'd _accidentally _poisoned herself with blueberries, he'd panicked, and Clove had been able to make a stealthy bargain. Her participation in exchange for his cooperation.

When he was sure she was no longer under the intoxicating effects of the berry, he hit her so hard across the face that she'd been bruised for weeks. He didn't keep up his end of the bargain, either.

Eventually, Athena moved onto the more pressing matters.

"How did you earn that 10?"

Clove's reply of, "It took a lot of hard work, determination, and preparation. I was very excited to please the game makers," did not please her mentor.

The red haired woman shook her head, "No, no. That absolves them of all credit. You'll need to say something like, 'the training center made me feel like I could do anything.'"

Doubtful, she looked directly at Athena, "Isn't that suspicious? If the training center was that miraculous, then all the tributes would earn 10s."

"Maybe, but we owe the Capitol our lives and unwavering loyalty," her mentor shot back, "They deserve the highest glory, and it's quite arrogant to assume that you could have made it this far on your own, Clove."

Gritting under her breath, she spat out, _You, without the Capitol's doting affection, would be entirely worthless!  
_

* * *

"And Cato Elroy, we've heard that you're related to a past tribute. Were the two of you close?"

Cato glared at Felix, not at all obliging him, "I'm not answering that."

"You ever had an insecure ex?" the dark-eyed mentor inquired, breaking from his Caesar Flickerman impersonation.

"No," Cato replied flatly.

"You dated Clove."

"I didn't date Clove. I just- What's your point?" Cato growled.

His mentor took a sip of water, and laid back, "The Ca-" Felix stopped, correcting himself, "The audience is a very much akin to an insecure girlfriend. They need constant reassurance of your undying love and devotion to them. They need the highest hymns to be sung."

_Loyalty to the Capitol is the deepest form of loyalty to yourself, _Adie's words rung in his head.

Cato rolled his eyes, "I can't believe you kept Brutus Clark from being my mentor."

"He would have told you the same thing, just not as nicely."

"If he's friends with you then you're probably right."

Felix wove his fingers together. "Brutus is a grumpy old man, but one of the coolest people I've ever met. Lives right next door too, and then I have Drey Holland on the other side. That guy is fucking terrifying. When you move onto the block, remind me never to piss him off."

"Yeah, whatever." Cato told him with an exasperated expression.

"Look, I get that you don't want to answer personal shit, but there's always a chance they're going to bring it up. It happened to me and I looked like a fool in front of several thousand brightly-colored peacocks."

The blonde gave Felix a death stare, "Can you take this seriously, you lazy bastard?"

Felix's lips quirked into a sardonic smile, "I'd say presentation is about 80%. The rest is all content." He looked up, as if to recall things, "Years ago, Clove and I thought that 'jack of all trades' would have been a good angle for you. A multidisciplinary leader, with mastery in various areas of weaponry, the ability to stave off hunger and sleep, and thorough understanding of game dynamics."

Cato didn't offer his opinion.

His mentor let out an annoyed breath, "However, Athena's come under the impression that you've yet to wrangle the pack under control."

Such an accusation garnered his attention, "Why the hell does she think that?"

"Clove says they like you too much," Felix gave him a reprimanding glance, "And I'm inclined to believe it, because I think you like them too much too."

Cato rested his arms against his knees, almost pouting, "That's not true."

"Point is, you've got to reestablish dominance."

The blonde gave him an annoyed look, "Alright, I'll bite. How do you plan for me to do that?"

Felix smirked, "You're going to kill Rio."

"I was going to kill him anyways."

"But this will be to your advantage. You're going to make an example of him. You'll approach it with a threat, like if someone is incompetent, uninvolved, or disobeys you, they'll be the next to go."

Cato smirked, "Every time I think you're becoming a better person, I have to remind myself you're Felix Grey."

"Morality doesn't play in the games. Make sure you remember that."

Cato shrugged, "Whatever. So, what's my angle, then? Bigot?"

The raven-haired teen laughed at the presumption, "We were actually going with sexually intimidating mass-murderer."

"That sounds friendly."

"Clove said you've been staring down Twelve," Felix began.

"Who wouldn't?" Cato sneered in response, "She outshone everyone at the chariot rides. Bitch needed to know that a pretty costume won't save her."

Felix's condescending cackle made Cato want to jut for his neck, but he instead watched the long past gone mentor, "You're going to harvest that energy and permanently assume the persona. You'll be calm, cool, unattainable, and very, very dangerous."

Cato scoffed, "And the sexual slant in that is?..."

Tracing the gold ring around his index finger, Felix clarified, "Not that it's my place, nor do I want it to be, but whatever you did to Clove that lead to her knocking on my door at midnight in a torn blouse, well let's just say it worked. It took you up another level."

Felix had gotten his attention now.

Continuing nonchalantly, he detailed, "Clove is 5'4, 120 pounds, yet has a 5-1 odds of winning and you still managed to leave her near-tears and incredibly uncomfortable. Once you assume that persona permanently, you'll terrify not only the other tributes, but the Capitol as well. Don't be fooled, the Capitol may enjoy its sweet, heart-wrenching moments, but the games wouldn't exist if they didn't enjoy the chill running down their spine when a tribute is massacred."

"So you're turning me into the games' antagonist? That's gonna pin a huge target on my back. 'Come slay the dragon and save the princess!,'" Cato said the last part in a faux high-pitched tone.

Felix rolled his eyes, "This is the hunger games. The bad guy always wins."

"They're going to think I'm a deranged psychopath."

"They can think whatever the fuck they want. As long as you win, who cares?" the frustrated raven-haired teen asked him.

"And say I get to Knots, what the fuck, then?" Cato had been thinking of the various ways in which to kill her for days. Everyone else would be a jut, slice, a broken neck. Easy, clean. Katniss Everdeen, however, had proven that she wasn't 'everyone else,' and he needed to handle her appropriately.

His mentor only smirked, a sick and sinister light in his eyes, "You're going to ruin her, and remind every tribute to come that no one likes a martyr."

* * *

**AN -** I can't believe we're twelve chapters post-reaping and we're only now getting to the interviews. I'm going to try and wrap up the last two days in the next two or so chapters!

Please, please review :3


	38. The Vision

I used to think I was tough, but then I realized I wasn't.  
I was fragile and I wore thick fucking armor.  
And I hurt people so they couldn't hurt me.  
And I thought that was what being tough was, but it isn't.

- James Frey

* * *

**This chapter** should not be read by anyone under the age of 13. It's also critical you read chapters 35-37 to understand the context of the content in this chapter.

* * *

He'd been resting for about an hour when a knock on the door awoke Cato from his early evening nap. It was probably for the best. He'd need to be properly rested later tonight for the following day's interviews anyways. A ghost of a scowl appeared on his face despite this, "You already got four and half hours of my day, rat bastard. You don't get a single second more."

The door opened despite his protests, and Clove stood there with a confused expression on her face. His demeanor relaxed, "Oh. Hey, Clovey."

"You and Fix on the outs?" she inquired, taking his response as permission to enter.

Cato leaned back onto the bed, "He's pinning a target to my back."

"How's he managing that?" Clove asked, frowning and crossing her arms.

The blonde wiped at his arm uncomfortably. He groaned after a minute and gave up, "It's a long story. Uh, so what did you and Athena decide on for the interview?"

She stood there for a few seconds, silent. Cato grew annoyed with Clove hovering in the distance, so he stretched his arms and legs and walked towards her. "I'm sarcastic, but also sweet."

"Is that a thing?" he asked her, "Because that's not so much an angle as it is a five word summary of who you are."

Clove didn't fight him on that, instead inquiring, "Do you still remember everything I said last night?"

He gave her a small, grateful nod, "Yeah, I do." Cato gazed off into the distance, thinking, "I remembered my brother too. He was really brave. He was like you, you know. Cautious, smart, fiercely loyal. I was really lucky to have him as long as I did."

Immense sadness again overcame him as his brain supplied, _And I was lucky to have you too. _He took a breath and firmly corrected himself, _No. Clove is not dead yet._

_Clove is not dead yet.  
Clove is not dead yet.  
Clove is not dead yet.  
_

The flicker of pain in his eyes led to her quickly, quietly weaving her fingers in his. Resolutely, she told him, "I'm counting on you. Straighten up, soldier."

The grief in his eyes slowly eased, and she was grateful. For him to be at peace with the memory of his brother meant that he was finally regaining some of his emotional stability.

Cato had to stop himself from flying into a rage at the injustice of it all. He was a coward. He didn't want to be there anymore. He and Clove were supposed to win one after the other, become neighbors, and spend the rest of their lives together, investing in their victor's talents. His, which would be book collecting, and hers which would have been pottery.

His thoughts, blasphemous and highly unorthodox, clawed at his conscience. He had a self-destructive habit of ruining anything that ever made him happy. Change was not a welcomed friend for Cato Elroy. Not at all.

_Because that's all you've ever done. You destroy everything you touch. You are death sentence, a grim reaper, a curse upon others. And of course, instead of being grateful for the poor, foolish bastards that choose to become your friend, you act as if they are not worth your time. _

_No, no, you've got it all wrong. You're not worth their time.  
_

"Cato, Cato, watch out!" Clove cried, grabbing his arm at the last moment and barely hoisting him up from the ground. She slid down the wall to support his frame and to fix his balance. Leaning against the wall, he worked at regaining his equilibrium. "I hope that's not a permanent side effect," she groaned, rubbing her arm soothingly. _  
_

He snorted through a winded breath, "Always there when I fall, and where does it ever get you?"

Placing her hands defiantly on her hips, she defensively shot back, "I seem to recall very pleasant memories associated with the last time I caught your clumsy ass."

The blonde grinned, mussing up her hair, "Yeah, well, you don't get lucky twice."

"You sound like Nero."

"Rue the day," Cato mocked, holding his heart dramatically.

Clove turned away from him in a faux melodramatic state, "I hate you."

"I hate myself too, but don't worry, I'm not making you stay."

"As if you'll get rid of me that easily. While you were gone, I decided we're going to be friends again," she informed him, daring him to defy her.

Cato glanced at her warily, "And what if I don't want to be friends?"

_You are so much more than just a friend, Clove.  
_

Turning up her nose, she replied, "Ever noticed how Felix gets everything he wants? Well, I'm taking a book out of his page."

"I think you mean taking a page out of his book," the blonde corrected, quirking up his left eyebrow. He let out an involuntary laugh at her embarrassed fury. Quietly, reassuringly, he mumbled, "I just don't think it's a good idea, that's all."

He tried not to crumble at the heartbroken expression on her face. His subconscious mocked him.

_You destroy everything you touch. And, she is much too pretty to fall, isn't she? _

_"_I hate this!" he snapped, pulling at his hair frustratedly.

"You hate this?" Clove shot back, not realizing the two were not engaged in the same conversation, "You're the one who keeps playing mind games. It's not fucking fair, Cato, and you know it."

"Life's not fair," he replied distantly, ambiguously.

And didn't that sentiment sum them up sweetly?

* * *

The next day had been dedicated entirely to the tribute interviews. Clove had been woken up by her prep team, a trio of idiots, who talked excitedly amongst themselves as they whisked her away to get ready.

The leader of her team was an energetic, old woman with orange-yellow skin and cerulean blue pigtails. The other two, twins, Clove suspected, were both no older than twenty-five. One of the twins had a hot pink pixie cut and several tattoos, while the other was dyed scarlet red, with a matching cotton-candy blue pixie cut.

She knew the names of the members of her prep team - Oceana, Cleo, and Esmeralda - but didn't know which name belonged to which idiot. So, she sat there trying to guess their names based on appearance.

They plucked her like a harvest turkey and left her naked under a coat of shimmery, translucent powder. Her hair was washed, dried, and styled in an intricate manner that pulled at her roots.

By the time they sent her off to Flora, she'd have done anything to escape. Her lilac-haired stylist only watched her with a bemused expression, before bringing her the dress she'd be wearing. It was pretty, tasteful, but entirely too, too long.

As Flora helped her into the dress, Clove paid particular attention to the fit and cut. Back at the annex, some of the less subtle boys had made jokes in regards to her lack of desirable assets. In this dress, it was still abundantly clear. She'd never had a womanly figure, never been as shapely as Glimmer. However, Clove still felt pretty.

A touch of femininity wasn't so bad, she decided. The dress catered to the contours of her body and emphasized her bone structure, which the commentators had alluded to during the opening ceremony.

Still, she wasn't exactly thrilled about the pool of fabric at her feet.

Soon, she was sent back to her party, where she stood, angrily, but quietly as she and Cato were led by Malee, Felix, and Athena. Athena gave her a cool look of approval, while Felix only suppressed a snigger. She shot him a dirty look before they were ushered backstage to be lined up for interviews.

_Showtime_, Clove thought to herself ironically.

* * *

To match his interview angle, Cato had been outfitted in a gray blazer, black pants and a matching black undershirt. It fit. Cato had always operated in shades of black and grey and his attire only served to emphasize his role in contrast to the other players. The boy from Three, for example, was dressed in yellow. The boy from Five in fuchsia.

"You look ridiculous," Cato whispered to Clove with a satisfied smirk.

Clove scrunched her nose and sneered, "Not as bad as Marvel!" she retorted in a whisper.

Marvel, not in the best of moods, only narrowed his eyes, "Too bad your interview follows mine, Clove. Otherwise you might have a chance in that dress."

Just like Marvel to synonymously compliment and degrade.

On stage, Glimmer was conversing with Caesar about Diamond Heist. She then moved onto to her various other hobbies, such as learning old world styles of dance and photographic technique, which her technical team on Diamond Heist had offered to mentor her in.

Curly-haired Marvel continued to watch impatiently as his partner extended every grace to Caesar that she hadn't extended to him. He'd gotten a small bit of gratification out of hearing her sob the night before. Until he felt bad, then it was just one small guilt trip after another, and wasn't this the worst moment ever to begin growing a conscience?

Alexandria Whitson was waiting for him. Beautiful,-

...

Well, this sucked! He couldn't think of anything outside of 'beautiful' to describe her. All of sudden, scaring off all the volunteers seemed really stupid. Really, really fucking stupid. In a few week's time, he was going to end up dinner for Cato and Clove, and the little witch back home would be cackling it up with her gaggle of giggling girls in her prestigious little mansion.

What had possessed him to enter the games for a goddamn girl?

_Relax, _he told himself, _Relax. Cato's dumber than a bag of bricks._ _You could easily overpower Kailani, and well... Clove, you'll just have to put your best foot forward. _

"Glimmer Maxwell, from District One, best of luck," Caesar told her, holding up her arm. She gave the crowd a dazzling, insincere smile before returning to the hallway. With a glance at Marvel, she gave him an encouraging smile, before retreating to her mentor.

_What about Glimmer? _his mind retorted.

_What about Glimmer? _he shot back, _Glimmer's never expected to come out of this alive. And she'll still go out with a bang. I'll make sure not a single soul will forget about the stunning young woman from District One. _

* * *

Clove's interview followed Marvel's enthusiastic, chaotic act. The blonde pushed her forward with a spiteful, but slightly encouraging thrust. As she took a seat, Cato gazed on, his attention wavering in and out.

To him, Clove looked like an over-sized, orange powder puff, but underneath the layers of caked on makeup she was still his Clove.

Most of her interview was been dedicated to talking about tiring, inane points: Her favorite foods - leafy, garlic pasta and tuna salad. Her hobbies - artistry and craftsmanship. Her chariot outfit and the significance of District Two to the Capitol's strong, unyielding architectural pieces.

He wasn't as discerning as Felix, but Cato suspected the interviews had been angled in a selective manner, because Caesar Flickerman then began asking Clove about her family life. Clove smiled, ruminating on Magnilda briefly, before Caesar redirected the interview towards her relationship with her parents.

_Well, my father is a researcher. He gathers insight on specific objectives and assists organizations in making smart decisions regarding followup efforts.__  
_

In layman's terms, one could call Clove's father a 'researcher,' but as a strategist, there was a darker, more malicious spin on his efforts than just helping the military decide what approach to take following interrogation. Of course, Clove couldn't exactly tell them that, as their military and peacekeeper industry was a tightly secured secret that the citizens of Two took to their graves.

Then, he asked her about her mother, and she softly elaborated, _My mother always said, 'Work hard and play smart' and I don't think that applies anywhere better than the arena. She'd have been very proud of my 10. _

_Ah, yes, the 10. Now, how did you get that?  
_

Clove gave the blue-haired host a coy smile. _Now, now, Caesar, a smart tribute never reveals trade secrets. _

The rest of the interviews had been straight-forward. To Cato's immense relief, Caesar Flickerman did not mention Mars. Instead, they'd mostly talked about the training, the weapons provided, and his approach to the games. They hadn't addressed his favorite foods, the hobbies he enjoyed. No, he'd only been interested in the gritty details.

_ I'm prepared, vicious, and ready to go._

And more or less, it might have been true. You know, if Clove wouldn't be dead in two weeks. He wasn't sure how well he pulled off the 'sexually-intimidating mass murderer' approach, but he hoped well enough to keep Felix out of his hair. The thought that that asshole had survived the games while Clove wouldn't was the ultimate karmic payoff.

It'd be much too easy to crucify him directly.

He met up with his mentors and Clove back at the apartment, changed into more comfortable wear just as Clove already had, and sat with them to watch the rest of the interviews. The little girl from Eleven told the audience with a sad smile that she was hard to catch and not to count her out. He scoffed, before Dicey's voice rung in his head, _It's best not to underestimate your opponents. __  
_

His familiar pitch helped stave off the loneliness. If he tried, Cato could pretend it was just another year on the Holloway couch eating chocolate and making bets. Each year, the first day of the games were especially rowdy and usually led to someone with a black eye or blue-green bruise. The war wounds were usually worn with honor.

Last year, Clove had nearly broken Nero's neck when he'd cheered against her favored tribute, Mariana from District Four.

The bird-like girl, complete with wings, from Eleven was followed by her hulking partner. He didn't say much, more along the lines of the 'strong and silent' archetype. Whatever, it was his funeral, Cato thought. Katniss Everdeen, the only competitor who had surpassed his score, then replaced the male from Eleven.

Caesar Flickerman asked her what had impressed her so far, and she stalled, completely unable to answer. Katniss Everdeen reminded Cato of so many of his test subjects right before exams begun. Terrified, unsure what to expect, and very, very inarticulate. That wouldn't serve her well at all.

The blue-haired host then moved onto her chariot attire, asking her what she thought. At first, Katniss tried to make a joke about her fear of burning to death. The audience laughed heartily at that. Then, the brown-haired ditz began to gush about the beauty of the costume, before moving onto the dress she was currently wearing.

Clove gagged with disgust. Cato's reaction nearly paralleled hers.

She stood up, spinning around, and the dress was engulfed in flames. The crowd let out a large gasp, cheering.

"Of fucking course," Felix spat, rolling his eyes.

No one on his team was impressed. Instead, they all sat there collectively glowering as Caesar asked the girl from Twelve how she'd earned her score. She giggled, not divulging anything.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it, right?" she asked, turning towards the gamemakers.

The infamous Plutarch Heavensbee affirmed her response, "She's not!"

"Sorry, my lips are sealed."

She didn't sound sorry at all. They moved onto her sister, and Cato couldn't help but to draw comparisons between the girl from Twelve and Clove. Both had sisters around the same age, both played sweet in their interviews, both had long, dark hair, both were even dressed in nearly the same shade, but most importantly both would be tributes to watch carefully.

The buzzer rang and the last tribute came onto stage. He'd earned an 8. Most likely based on his physical strength alone. He, like Marvel, had a certain charisma. He performed an entire routine comparing the various tributes to bread, which Cato replied to with a groan and roll of eyes, before continuing onto other unfunny jokes about the Capitol showers.

The showering system in the Capitol was the least of their eccentricities, but Cato still became stony at the mention, recalling Clove's anaphylactic reaction, and growing furious at the last tribute for reminding him. Caesar followed up with questions regarding the dark-blonde's love life and Clove restlessly shuffled, glaring at the screen in annoyance as he squirmed and began a long-standing love confession to a girl back home in Twelve.

_Too bad, lover boy, you're taking that one to the grave, _Cato thought.

Caesar then suggested that he could win the games and then his crush would have to go out with him. The boy shook his head sadly, replying that it wouldn't help. When Caesar inquired as to why, he only sputtered out,

"Because... because... she came here with me."

* * *

Cato flew up, an unyielding inferno as he stormed off to his room furiously. Clove followed after him slowly. Carefully, she approached him.

"Cato, calm down," she comforted him, yanking on his arm. He shoved her to the ground with a glare.

He then looked to Clove with a manic gaze, "Do you know what that bitch just did?"

"Muddling around in self-misery isn't going to help," Clove answered, picking herself up off the of the ground and wiping at the hem of her shirt.

His eyes shifted down towards her own. "You're going to die, Clove!"

Clove remained coolly composed, refusing to react to what the hysterical teen before had just said. Cato glared at her, coming closer to the stoic girl. Boundaries again had been broken, their ties entirely confused. The mood instantly darkened.

With a growing fury, he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. As Clove saw it, it was a threatening gesture and she could barely stop herself from shaking at the thought of what he might do next. Cato was disoriented, just trying to leach some of the brunette's strength. She stood before him.

_Clove is not dead yet. _

Defiance flared in her sparkling hazel eyes as she stared down the blonde, "What does it matter to you? You don't want to be my friend. You don't want to be my anything, Cato. So, let's be direct. What could it possibly matter to you if I died?"

Cato crossed his arms, a cold warning in his body language. Clove, very much like a black widow, slowly traveled over to her sitting prey with tricky twinkle bewitching her eyes. Cato stood his ground, refusing to let her win, but grew uneasy.

"That's what I thought," she told him with an icy glare.

Roughly, he grabbed her arm and hoisted her back towards him. "I'm not done with you," he spat.

A sneaky look crossed her face as the small girl laughed blackly, "You don't want to be my friend. You don't want to pursue a higher relationship. You know, I'm betting I know exactly what you want, Cato."

He watched her, not breaking his magnetic stare. The parallels were maddening.

"Is this about me refusing to fuck you? Because I'd be happy to oblige," she taunted with a sinister smirk, stepping up to him with a daring glance.

So he made a decision. He could either step forward, or be swallowed up whole.

He arched his brows and sneered patronizingly, "Just don't expect me to be gentle, sweetheart." Cato grabbed the cusp of her face, and began to kiss her. Clove returned the energy two-fold, not daring to let him take control.

Clove yanked his shirt over the top of his head before throwing it to the floor. The brunette took a moment to admire the gift that kept on giving, "And ruin all the fun? I don't think so."

She removed her pants and beckoned him to her with a challenging look. Cato smirked, tearing her shirt open. He hesitated for only a second, before leaning in for a second dominating kiss. Clove fought back, pushing him onto the edge of the bed and arching her brows as she pulled on the drawstring of his pants.

Cato smirked and gave her a glance that read, _It's your play, darling_. Clove drew his pants off of him, then with challenging eyes, pulled his neck closer to hers and kissed him once more. He leaned into the kiss, before pulling away and going for her neck.

This was where Clove drew the line, "I'm not some post for you to pee on." She pushed his face away gruffly.

She then cinched her fingers around the waistband of his boxers, looking up to him with a satisfied smirk as if she'd won some sick game they'd been playing. Cato's eyes became glassy, distant, and he refused eye contact. Clove growled, pulling the waistband down, but it snapped back up as the blonde lurched over, and vomited.

Clove slid back, totally aghast. "Do you need to me to hold your hand, virgin?" she mocked him cruelly.

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but I'm not a virgin." he corrected, wiping the remains off of his mouth.

"Is that so?" She studied him with mocking disbelief, "And when would that have been?"

He continued to avert his eyes, "January."

"But we were still-" Clove said, breaking her cool exterior, before angrily demanding. "Who was it?"

Cato was silent. His equilibrium was out of balance once again and his state of mind was in chaotic disconnect. Clove's intense, tearing words didn't help.

"Fox had a big mouth. Probably liked to use in more than one way." Clove pondered, trying to gauge his reaction.

"Stop," he muttered, trying to stop world from spinning.

"Perhaps it was Romanoff." Clove defied him, "That girl's so quiet you could convince her to do anything, or maybe you didn't care to take the time."

"Clove, stop."

"You know, now that I think about it, I'm all wrong." she smirked, "And you're probably a liar, because I'm betting it was District One. She's always seemed particularly fond of you and your assets. The two of you probably did it right on the mats. I hope the audience enjoyed their show."

"I said to fucking stop!" He screamed at her, tearing at her long hair to gain her attention. He then let go, burying his face into his hands and choking out, in a heavy, panicked breath, "It was my mom."

Cato then emptied the remaining contents of his stomach onto the floor.

* * *

**AN - **I won't say much, just that Cato's been having reoccurring dreams about the whole thing since they got on the train [chapters 29, 31, and 35]. Poor thing has had a really rough year. Not that he's exactly been a saint himself.

PS. I'm the beta for SilverAquaTrident's "Queen, Protector, Warrior, and Serpent," which focuses on the career alliance as they struggle to get along in preparation for the 74th games. It's a really enjoyable story and I'd highly recommend it. It's especially fun in contrast to the tone of The Unwinding Circle.

**Please review **with your questions, comments, observations, things you enjoyed, or things you didn't. It helps me decide what approach to take with the following chapters.


	39. The Mending Of Broken Things

I'd probably be one of the most dangerous men in the world if I wanted to be. But I never wanted to be anything but me.

- Charles Manson

* * *

**This chapter** **cannot** be understood without reading chapter 38 first. I also don't _recommend_ it to anyone under the age of 13.

* * *

"You didn't want it."

It phrased more as a question than an affirmation, and immediately Clove knew it was not a very inappropriate response to his confession. Clove was smarter than that. She knew of Cato's mother. She had seen the damage the former Mrs. Elroy inflicted upon her son. From burning him with scalding water, to punching him with a fist full of rings, she was an unfathomably cruel, terrifying woman even by District Two standards.

Cato's mother horrified her. Clove was scared of _becoming her_.

The dizzy blonde picked himself up from the floor angrily, sidestepping the vomit, and then threw the closest object he could find - a lamp - at the wall. Turning back to her, he snapped at hotly, "And since when does anyone care what I want? Not my father, the negligent bastard, and my mother, she-"

It was a different sort of anger; Less hostile and more expressive.

He snatched the visual remote from its place on the nightstand and flung it against the opposite wall. If this continued, the whole room would soon be in ruins.

"I'm just some toy to be played with. But, you know, maybe I deserved it." Cato started to laugh crazily, with haunting eyes, "So let's get on with it, Clovey. You want me? Well, here I am. I'll do whatever the fuck you want."

Clove felt a pang in her chest. All her fury, the aggression, all of it dissipated. It was replaced by hesitation and fear.

She stayed silent, for which the blonde was grateful of. He didn't think he could handle any more emotional stimulation. Turning away from her, he admitted, "My body- it- I- reacted to her touch." Cato turned back to Clove, trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes gleamed brightly.

Cato hit his fist against the wall, scraping his knuckles as leaned forward, begging desperately and pathetically, "Would it be so much to ask for parents that actually love me? I've worked hard, real hard. I've spent every single day and night trying to be what they want, and what Mars couldn't."

He let out a mirthless laugh and her hazel eyes began to well up with tears that she was determined not to let fall. Clove swallowed a lump in her throat.

Cato pulled Clove by the ends of her hair, ignoring her wince of pain, and commanded coldly, "Don't you dare fucking cry. It's not going to change the fact that I was unfaithful to you, that I'm worthless, abhorrent, and vile."

Such self-deprecation sent her walls crashing down. Clove really had tried to be strong, but now she was just embarrassed with her frankness. Swiftly, she began wiping at her eyes, trying to piece herself back together.

"I'm disgusting, disgraceful. Isn't that what you wanted to say!" Cato demanded, glaring at her. He didn't wait for her response. Quieter, he added, "Well, you wouldn't be telling me anything I don't already know."

In a matter of moments, everything had shifted. She was suddenly overcome by a feeling of deja vu. It had been years and years ago, when she'd first discovered about his parent's maltreatment. _It doesn't matter, _the eight-year-old had assured her when she'd tried to get him help.

Clove let out an anxious breath and inched her way up to him, ignoring the pungent smell of the vomit layering the carpet. The potent image of the small boy grimacing in pain came to mind as she brought him into a secure embrace, holding onto him tightly.

Cato, try as he could, was unable to suppress a choked up sob as he began to shake, "Why wasn't I ever good enough, Clove?"

Clove bit her lip and chastely kissed the back of his left shoulder. It was then that Cato realized she wasn't crying because of the grievances he'd committed against her. She was crying for the grievances committed by others against _him_. That only made the whole thing worse, so he told her, "I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it. Ever."

As inconvenient as it was, Clove knew he wasn't just talking about his wretch of a mother.

"I know," Clove acknowledged softly, holding his frame protectively in her arms. She'd long suspected that Cato wasn't made out for this line of work. He was a scholar, an academic. Cato devoured books and used creative expression to explain his views of the world around him. The blonde had wanted to build a sanctuary for books, where knowledge was freely dispensed and absorbed.

He'd never cared to kill. While certainly outfitted with a violent and temperamental disposition, Cato had never been fierce enough to go quite as far of own volition. She knew, because Cato could never craft, only eliminate. In such a way, he was weak. In such a way, Cato was a pretender, a fraud, a vessel. But, at least he was good at it.

"I'm sorry. I was so terrible to you, Clovey," he croaked. "I believed everything you said, didn't hold a grudge for even a second, but I was just so tired of being the frail puppy you took pity on. You've saved my life so many times, but I've always only added to my debt. Guess I'll never learn."

Clove stood up, removing herself from the embrace and willed herself to give him the space he needed. When her mother had died, she'd wanted more than anything to be alone, but between her sister, her aunt, Nero, and Dicey, that had never been an option.

His breathing became unsteady, manic, "I'm sorry. Please don't leave, Clove. Please. Please-"

To see him this delicate grasped at something deep within her. It infuriated her. She hushed him, "I won't. I promise." She told him as she took his hand in hers and pulled him away from the retching smell.

The pair walked to the next room over and Clove pulled the blanket off of her bed and gestured for him to get in. Once comfortable on the bed, she drew the sheets up around him, and ordered a glass of water and a small bowl of fruit. Pulling a chair up to the bed, she sat beside him, and began to stroke his hair. "I wasn't entirely blameless myself," she admitted.

His breathing steadied and his eyes slightly drooped. "Dicey," he yawned.

"No," she corrected sardonically, "I'm Clove."

Cato let out a laugh, "He said I was fucked. Never really knew what he meant til now."

"That idiot says a lot of things. You'll need to be more specific."

A chill ran down her spine as she thought of what Dicey would've done if he knew. He'd have probably gutted Cato's mother. Hell, all the boys would have probably gutted her. Well, maybe not all of them. Felix wouldn't have been that kind. If he'd known, he would have set the woman alight and watched her burn magnificently. 'The best of the best' didn't let anyone torture his friends but himself.

"I'm in love with you," Cato whispered, "Pretty damn pathetic isn't it?"

Clove played it off casually. "That _is_ pretty pathetic," she agreed with a flat, sarcastic affect, "What were you thinking?"

Cato laughed softly, "You're perfect, Clove. Oh, you're so entirely perfect."

"And you are-"

"Disgusting?" he offered.  
"Delusional," she corrected, unamused.

He faintly grabbed her hand with his own, "I've known for a while."

"That you're delusional? Pretty sure the whole world's known."

"That I'm in love with you," he retorted, flicking her head with a laugh.

It was too bittersweet, too cruel, too unfair, too, too unjust. He'd finally reverted to base form and stripped himself bare, but then tomorrow he'd be forced to resume the role. It was a heavy weight to bear just to attain his brother's dignity and finally put him to rest, but that was Cato's honor.

"You don't have to return my feelings. I wouldn't," the blonde informed her with a mumble, not at all subtle, but still manipulatively hopeful.

The brunette only sadly confessed, "You have a reason to be here, a motive, a directive. I've always wanted to enter just to enter. That sounds so stupid in comparison to even Marvel."

Cato shook his head warily, "I'd have been here anyways. Mom wants a victor. She-"

He choked up, swallowed, forcing it all out, "I came home one night and she looked at me and said that she was proud of me. She never said shit like that, Clove. I started to do school stuff in my room and she came in with dinner, sat with me, and said she'd always wanted to be with a victor. Right as I started to make a joke, she pushed me on to the bed and that's when I realized she'd done something to me, because I couldn't move my legs."

The blonde bit his lip and Clove caressed his cheek, "You don't have to-"

Cato shook his head, "I've kept it a secret much too long." Clove pulled him closer to her and continued to stroke his hair. He relaxed into her embrace.

"Mom tore my shirt open and started to trail her hands down my chest, saying I looked just like my father. I was so damned scared, Clove. I was a coward... Then, she reached for my waistband and I begged her to stop, told her I'd do anything she wanted, that I'd get stronger, work harder, give her all my winnings, anything, but it didn't matter. When she touched me, I reacted. I'm disgusting. I'm so disgusting-"

Much like how Clove had done years earlier, the petite brunette forced his lips closed. "The only thing that's disgusting is that you're assuming the blame."

"I was so worried you'd find out and hate me, but you've always had such an uplifting effect on me that I stuck to you like glue, pretending nothing happened. I couldn't handle the thought of ruining whatever we had. Which, I guess by how we treated our relationship, wasn't really much."

How had she been so blind to his suffering? The signs had been there, blaring, and flashy. Was it even possible to look past the clingy behavior, sexual hesitation, nightmares, aggressiveness, and everything else for so long? This was her fault! She'd ignored her best friend when he'd needed her most, had made jokes at his expense, and even pushed him away. Clove bit her lip. _She'd failed him._

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her softly, wiping a stray tear streaking down her cheek.

"I love you," she whispered hoarsely, "But, I'm scared, Cato. I don't want to die, but I don't want you to either."

"Then fight your hardest, and I will too, and we'll promise to be happy for the winner. Even if it means our own untimely demise."

Scratchily, Clove amended, "If it gets too bad... just promise to end it quickly."

"Only if you promise to stay with me until the very end."

* * *

**AN** - Have I made them unrealistically pathetic? I mean, I've tried really hard to make them tough, aggressive, and cruel to others, but then when I write them together and the whole thing crumbles around me.

Please review. Tell me what you liked, didn't like, your observations, or even questions you have. Have a good weekend!


	40. The Emprise

Life is either a great adventure or nothing.

- Helen Keller

* * *

"I was eleven when my sister got knocked up. Even then, I knew she'd made a reckless decision, but she just looked to me with an arrogant sort of expression and said 'You don't understand love, _Felici_' and I in return said, 'You don't understand Panem, Jade,'" Felix recalled quickly and acerbically from the door to Clove's bed chambers, "You two might be wondering what the point of that anecdote is. Well, I'll tell you."

Cato groaned, stirring slightly. Clove only nestled in more comfortably to the blonde's chest. He let out a deep yawn, "How the hell is it 7 already?"

Felix continued to gather more momentum as the two didn't move from their innocent, but compromising spot on the bed. Softly, he murmured, "The prime of life is the worst place to be, because it's the highest point from which to fall. So, you might think, 'Oh, Cato finally loves me!' but what you should be thinking is, 'Oh shit, Cato is probably as capable at thrusting a sword as he is his cock. That might not end well for me.'"

There was a rustle and the pair awkwardly shuffled away from each other. Cato sharply opened his eyes to look at the obsidian-eyed teen directly. He was surprised to see his old friend dressed in black pants and a cuffed, red dress shirt so early in the day, "Clock says it's 5:30. Fuck off."

"Now, I might be being a little too harsh. I'm sure the two of you reached a wonderful compromise. Love is sacrifice after all. So who is it? Who will be I be delegating all my resources to?"

Felix crossed his arms at the moment of silence, "I didn't think so."

Clove's eyes remained closed as she continued to ignore the ranting boy, who Cato had the good grace to interrupt, "Is your presence suppose to serve a purpose, or are you just going to continue to yap like a pesky mutt?"

"I came here to make the goodbyes before the 'goodbyes.'"

The brunette only pulled the blanket further over herself and mumbled shortly, "'Become such a bleeding heart since the games."

Felix didn't disagree, or at least didn't say anything outright. He'd become a malleable marshmallow in just a year's time, but there were only a few things he'd choose over this development in demeanor. His sister's life, for example. In twelve months, he'd finally began to grasp at a sense of tranquility and comprehension. There was freedom in knowledge, and he'd soon he be drowning in the bowl.

"You know, maybe I'm reading too much into this. You fuck, you play, and you-" he gestured to Clove, "die. So, no baby Elroy, no hurt feelings, and no mess. I can play that kind of game, actually."

The duo, though now separated, tensed in synchrony. "Just because you're a grimy, dirty whore...," Clove began.

Blackened eyes became stony and he forced them shut, working to block out the symphony of voices ringing in his head. The troublesome little girl had no idea what she was saying. In the year that had passed, he'd only had sex of his own volition once. With a honey-colored, wavy-haired Paxton Watson.

Felix had thought Paxton slept with him because she liked him. He wasn't naive to her sly and ambitious nature, but it only accentuated her attractiveness. During candidacy training, Ellery had recounted several stories surrounding her sister's girlhood crush.

Instead, the moment it was over, Felix was verbally assaulted with a barrage of questions as the leggy girl pleaded with him to tell her all of Ellery's thoughts, attitudes, and behavior leading up to her candidacy bid for tribute. Felix didn't hold it against her, he'd lost his own sister the same year, but he'd still felt betrayed that she'd only used him for information.

The angelic, but equally lethal Paxton was rich, revered, and difficult. While he could match wits, and even wealth, he was missing something else, something entirely essential, but impossible to pin point.

His mind's persistent nattering didn't waver, but through grit teeth, he replied, "This syrupy-sweet nonsense the two of you have going on is entirely inappropriate. Athena and I worked carefully to construct the personas you assume and I'd hate to see the two of you bleeding out because you couldn't follow simple instructions."

In return, he received two equally displeased scowls. He laughed derisively at the behavior, "The cute thing is that you think I'm the antagonist, that I'm the one keeping you apart." Felix flipped a coin, "No, see, me, I'm just another piece in a puzzle too grand for the likes of you to solve."

His blanket statement left the pair bewildered, and he only added lowly, "You have 10 minutes before the stylists arrive. Get dressed."

"Fix, wait!" Clove called out, and he turned around warily.

"What is it now, Clove?" Felix asked.

The brunette barely had enough time to comprehend that this was the first (and possibly the last) time he'd ever addressed her by given name. "If I don't make it, you tell my sister I love her."

Felix rolled his eyes, "She knows, Clove. The whole district does."

"Listen to me, rat bastard, I gave you five years of my life. The least you can do is return the favor by giving me five seconds of yours," she told him scathingly.

He sighed, averting his gaze, "Fine. Cato?"

Cato shrugged noncommittally, "Nah, man. I plan to win."

* * *

While Cato and Clove got dressed, Felix excused himself to other matters. He'd only been back in the Capitol a week and the seventeen year old already regretted his choice to return. He said as much to Nero and Dicey by videophone.

"You'd think I'd be done being surprised at the things you say, but you have this inexplicable ability to narrow in on people's most vulnerable moments," Nero admonished him from the screen. He was trying, to no avail, to flatten his bed hair, while Dicey only blinked sleepily beside him.

Yawning, he grumbled, "You sure look rested."

"Haven't been to bed, yet," Felix waved him off, "Anyways, my point is that deadbeat dads went out of style a decade ago. Look at us! You," Felix pointed towards Dicey, "killed the girl carrying your child to avoid becoming one." He turned to Nero, "You are engaged to the world's most boring wallpaper-"

"Felix," Nero warned him.

The black-haired teen brushed him off, "And even though I'm the youngest, wealthiest, and one of the most popular victors alive, the only people I have left in my life are you duds."

Dicey snorted, "Yeah, except you two don't have deadbeat dads. You just have dead dads."

"Funny, Dice. Real damn funny," Nero snapped, punching the redhead's back angrily. Dicey didn't wince, but grumbled to himself as he soothed the spot.

"Imagine: Clove Holloway, teenage mother," Felix mocked, extending his arms outward dramatically and then placing them behind his head.

Nero shook his head, his eyes widening, "No, it'd be more like, imagine: Clove Holloway, teenage corpse. If Clove comes home from the games pregnant, it'll be all for nothing because Uncle Balthazar will feed her to the wolves."

"He'd be better off sending her to Dicey. It'd probably be a lot cheaper," Felix quipped.

Dicey fumed silently, and Nero sighed, "Not that we don't appreciate the updates, but there's more to your call than just telling us that you found Cato and Clove in bed, right?"

Felix's eyes widened for a second, "Right! I had a point. The interview segment, you saw it, right?"

Dicey looked up curiously, "Was Cato's angle supposed to be stone-cold bastard?"  
At the same time, Nero remarked, "District Twelve must be desperate."

"Funny coming from you," Felix replied, unabashed.

Nero gave him a resigned sigh, "Even if it were Aniston and I, I'd keep it the whole thing under wraps. Better to protect her with dignity and honor than to resort to the lowest common denominator and claim the pity vote. She deserves better."

_Whatever, _Felix thought with a snort. He then replied, "Their mentor wanted an invite to the alliance."

"The drunken loon was able to stand that long?" Dicey asked, failing to hide his disgust.

Nero pushed Dicey away, annoyed, "You have to do it! If Katniss Everdeen is accepted into the alliance, the second the bloodbath is over, they can flay her on the spot."

"Not exactly what Abernathy was offering, but good to know that gore gets your gears going, Nee," Felix smirked, teasing the ash-brown boy who avoided his gaze.

With shock and disbelief, Dicey pushed him out of the way and demanded, "The boy, he's offering the boy? What good could that lovestruck moron do?"

"Yeah, what good could he do?" Nero asked Felix.

Felix shrugged, "He's a heavy lifter. Maybe he could play pack mule until he outlives his usefulness."

Dicey crossed his arms for a moment, blinking a bit, "...Or maybe he could help lead them directly to Katpiss Everdeen."

Nero rolled his eyes at the childish play on words, looking towards Felix to gauge his reaction. Felix's eyes traveled upward as he contemplated the auburn-haired boy's words carefully, "But if he's in love, he'd never do it..."

"He will if they threaten to stick a spear up his ass," Dicey disagreed.

Nero snorted, nostalgic amusement lighting up his blue eyes, "That sounded almost like Cato, Dice."

"Even if he tells them anything, it could all be a lie. They'd waste resources, days, even simple currency like energy all on a wild chase for the girl from Twelve," Felix started, talking more to himself than the duo on the screen.

"What if it's all an act?" Nero suggested, "Maybe it's not you he's lying to, maybe it's her. The gamemakers seem to think Twelve is the biggest threat. So what easier way to disarm someone than getting under their skin?"

The other two nodded, slowly understanding. "You think he's that smart?" Dicey asked, unsure.

"What else could Bread Boy get out of it? It might make him look like a nice guy, but that won't mean anything if he becomes a bloodbath casualty..." Felix supplied thoughtfully.

Dicey and Nero looked at each other, "So is he in?"

"He's in."

* * *

After being guided to the roof by Flora and Michaelis, the tributes were boarded onto a Capitol hovercraft. They were then injected with Capitol trackers that would monitor them throughout the games.

"It's amazing," Cato whispered, glancing out the window towards the skyline, a bewitching smile breaking out as he leaned in closer to her as if to whisper secrets, something they had done as children.

"Thinking about jumping ship and marrying a Capitolite?"

The blonde smirked, disagreeing, "We're more compatible."

She took his palm in hers, clasping to him tightly, bubbling, "We are, aren't we?"

"Scared?"

Clove arched her brows, smiling widely. "You crazy?" she asked, playfully slapping his face, "This is the adrenaline thrill of a lifetime. I can't wait."

Cato only teased her more, leaning in even closer for a kiss, and whispering, "You really do bring out the best in me, Clove."

Returning his energy, she held his head and kissed him back just as forcefully, "We are going to kill it."

"Literally!" he exclaimed, laughing excitedly. Cato felt strange, free, light as air. He supposed Clove really did bring out the best in him. Clove nodded fervently, biting her lip, as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her to his chest, "We can't make any more promises, though."

_It'd hurt too much, _was his unspoken reasoning.

"No," she agreed with a nod, "Except that I love you. That's a promise."

He smiled, the words gratifying him more each time she said them, "Definitely a promise, Clovey." Cato leaned his head into the crux of her shoulder, "I love you too."

Clove ran her fingers through his hair and brought his forehead to hers. The two held each other for a few more moments, before breaking apart hesitantly and continuing to chatter on enthusiastically about the various components of the games: weapons, the possible arenas, and even bets on who'd have a higher bloodbath count.

"Three, at the minimum."

"At the minimum, definitely," he agreed, biting into a piece of toast with an amused half-smile.

They moved onto a brief discourse on the other contenders. Marvel, Kailani, and Thresh were in the top tier, with Glimmer and various others filling out the lower levels. The two did not discuss Katniss Everdeen's role in the lopsided pyramid, and neither dared to dote on Peeta Mellark's admission of love, lest the pair from Twelve ruin their last peaceful moments together. They'd accepted him, wary, and displeased, but had decided better the tribute be with them than with Everdeen, raking in the sponsors.

In organizing their contenders, Cato began to babble eccentrically about Rue's score, "What if little Eleven is like Nelly? Really fucking cute, but ferocious too? It'd be, it'd be..." He trailed off, trying to think of a way to complete his thought.

Clove gave him a mischievous grin, "With how 'protect the innocent' Twelve is, it'd be the show of a lifetime watching Eleven cut her down."

"Place your vote, hot or cold?" he asked, changing the subject once again.

"Island paradise," Clove guessed, looking absolutely hopeful.

"Urban jungle," Cato disagreed, picking at a dangling vine of grapes, which Clove discreetly snatched at, "With long vines, warm afternoons, tigers, jaguars, and cougars."

With a sexy smile, Clove teased, "I'd be more worried about the cougars outside of the arena."

He gave a hearty laugh to that comment and soon both of them were laughing. "You're going to get me in trouble," he told her with a cocky smirk.

"Cato, you're in love with me," a glow of happiness in her self-effacing humor, "You're already in trouble."

The blonde turned away, filling his plate with more food, "I'll still win."

"You can try," she challenged.

"We could be in the arctic zero, you know. That wouldn't end well for either of us."

"Or a volcano," she supplied helpfully.

Cato opened his mouth in mock horror, "Don't give them more ideas, Clove!"

"Your cowardice is showing," she teased.

Cato swung his head from side to side, faking a gasp, "Where? Where?"

Clove began to laugh harder, and he grinned, proud of his accomplishment. Biting back a smile, she remarked, "If the other tributes could only see you now."

"They'd still be scared," Cato joked lightheartedly, whispering to her, "They'd think 'Cato Elroy is laughing. Run, fucking fun!' and make haste."

"The sweet thing is that they think you're the bad guy. Now, that's reckless, because we all know I'm the one they should be watching out for," Clove replied, a coy, satisfied smirk appearing as she made careful strokes with the butter knife to dispense peanut butter evenly onto her toast.

And there was a stirring of mourning in his chest, because they were so much more than killers, but no one else would ever know.

* * *

Flora styled Clove's hair into intricate, small balls that fell down her back. She was then outfitted in tawny pants, leather boots, and a green undershirt. To complete the entire ensemble was a black jacket that reached down to her hips and a belt to hold everything together in place. When Flora had put on the last finishing touches, Clove sat patiently on the couch beside the lilac-haired woman and tried to stop the bubbling in her chest.

Flora only gave her an encouraging smirk, "You've certainly been one of the most fun tributes I've had to work with. You make sure to come home, Clove Holloway."

"I plan on it."

Meanwhile, as Cato pulled on his clothes in a separate launch room, his stylist only smirked as he handed him a teal bow. "I imagine this isn't yours..."

"No," Cato said, snatching it from the mauve-haired man and recalling how he attained the accessory, "It belonged to someone important to me. Incentive, you know."

Michaelis only curtly nodded, "A girl back home?"

"Why is it your business?" Cato demanded, "I don't owe you any more explanations, sir."

Troubled by his tribute's inability to play nice, Michaelis rested his hands on his hips, "When you win, Cato, we will be seeing a lot of each other, so we must learn to get along."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," the blonde muttered, fiddling to himself as he rested on the couch and awaited launch.

A kind, pleasant voice soon announced that it was time to launch and both stylists guided their tribute onto a cylindrical plate that began to rise. Flora gave the petite girl a thumbs up. Clove's heart began to pump feverishly as she was surrounded by darkness.

Fifteen seconds. Fifteen people.

Mother. Father. Magnilda. Nero. Aunt Ebony._ Family.  
_Mrs. Astrid. Lyon Owens. Paxton Watson. Ellery Watson. Gideon Alonzo._ Catalysts.  
_Mars Elroy. Kyler Gunner. Dicey. Felix. Cato._ Educators. _

Clove snapped her eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the chorus of voices, singing sweet advice. A gentle breeze swayed her bangs and the sun shined directly overhead.

"Ladies and gentleman, let the 74th Annual Hunger Games begin!"

And in almost perfect synchrony, the chorus instructed,_ Go! _

* * *

**AN** - I'm trying to base this story mostly off of book canon, but it's hard to do because most of my memory has been replaced by the film. Every chapter, I'm sitting here listening to the audiobook and trying to fit things in.

_Please review! _

Tell me what you liked, didn't like, observations, or questions.

**Also**, I was going to give this to you guys next chapter, but your reviews have been so sweet that I've gone back and edited this chapter to add this note. I've been working on a blog where I write up my notes, thoughts, and explanations on all the chapters. It can be found on tumblr at theunwindingcircle :) Right now, I'm up to chapter 30.


	41. The Imperial Reign

In all chaos there is a cosmos, in all disorder a secret order.

- Carl Jung

* * *

The scene unraveled quickly.

Cato narrowed in on the supplies, sprinting past various tributes to have first pick of the available weapons. He caught a glimpse of himself in a sword and gave it a nasty grin. This would play out nicely.

Clove fell to her knees, grabbing as many knives as she could in one hand. She turned swiftly from side to side to avoid any surprise attacks and then sprung into motion. Many of the knives she stored away, but she left a select bunch in her left hand.

Her first target was one of the boys from the outlying districts. He was wrestling with the girl from Twelve, Everdeen, over an orange backpack. The sight infuriated her. The idiot on fire was her's to claim, not some scruff from the slums out east.

Immediately, Clove threw a knife directly into the offending tribute's back. He fell over, coughing blood onto Twelve's face, before she realized what had happened. With ten yards between them, Clove could have easily reached her, but to end her so quickly seemed painfully depriving. Twelve was quick to her feet, watching her with a surreal fear, before running towards the forest for cover. With a guided sling, Clove threw a knife towards her. To Clove's great displeasure, though, it landed in her pack instead of her neck. Clove retreated towards the cornucopia.

There would be time for her later. Right now, she had some loose ends to tidy up.

Amidst all the chaos, Marvel had caught sight of one of girls from 7 or 8 sleuthing towards the knives. "You know, I don't think my teammates would appreciate you taking those." The curly-haired boy mocked, impaling the shaking girl on his spear, before withdrawing it with a satisfied smirk.

Glimmer, to his great surprise, was apparently quite vindictive when prompted. With a callous thrust of her large, serrated knife, she'd gutted at least two other female competitors before getting to work organizing supplies with Kailani. The tribute from Four wiped the blood from her single kill hastily and reoriented herself towards the next task.

"Look who was too stupid to run," Marvel chuckled in amusement, staring directly at the male from Twelve.

The ash-blonde stood hesitantly, shuffling uncomfortably as the collective gaze of the career alliance fell upon him.

Glimmer sneered, "This must be my bonus prize. Well, well, Twelve. You've got a lot of guts coming back here, but you know, we're a very generous bunch. We'll even let you pick your executor."

"No," Cato interrupted, "He's with us."

"Cato!"  
"What for?  
"Is that a good idea?"  
"What if he betrays us?"

"Shut up!" the blonde grit out, then turned to Rio, "First time you speak and you said entirely the wrong thing, kid."

Rio froze, "I-i"

With a clink of Cato's sword, the young boy's head rolled to the ground. His body collapsed beneath him, spurting blood. Kailani grasped her left wrist in her right and bit on her tongue to stop the cry of shock stuck in her throat.

Cato smirked, leaning down and yanking Rio's head from the grass by the roots of his hair, "Any one of you bastards could be next. This is my fucking alliance and I said he's in."

Marvel, who usually had a quirky response to Cato's demands only stood rigidly and remained silent. Cato nodded approvingly at him, before turning back to the boy from Twelve, "Just because you're the weak link doesn't mean we're going easy on you, lover boy."

"Peeta," he replied back, before realizing his mistake.

"What?" Cato growled.

Softer, the boy elaborated anxiously, "My name is Peeta..."

"You want to be next, Twelve?" Cato threatened, holding up Rio's severed head. Peeta shook his head fervently, avoiding direct eye contact. "I don't want any complaining or any crying out of you. The only time I should hear your voice is if you've been formally addressed or in case of emergency. That's it. You get us to your partner and maybe you'll live long enough."

Peeta nodded his understanding and Cato threw Rio's head to the floor. "Glimmer, Kailani, I want you to sort out this shit," Cato instructed them, pointing towards the various containers of supplies and weapons laid around the cornucopia, "Marvel, bread boy, set up the tents."

As the group dispersed, Clove came over to her district partner with a proud half-smirk. "Who knew you were such a natural born leader?"

He arched his brows and crossed his arms, "This is off to a taxing start. The only tribute worth their weight in salt is Marvel."

"We'll go hunting, then," she suggested.

"Tonight," Cato agreed with a faint nod. "How many have fallen?"

Clove's eyes skimmed the field, as she mentally added up the bodies, "11."

"And your count?"

"3," She told him. The brunette glowered at his cocky smirk, "What was your number, then?"

"Same," he replied, distracted, "Guess we're at a stalemate, Clove."

She narrowed her hazel eyes with a huff, arguing, "Not for long."

"We'll see," Cato challenged nonchalantly, hiding an amused smile. His eyes traveled upwards to the incoming hovercraft and he commanded the rest of the team, "Evacuate the field!"

Kailani and Glimmer, towards the edge of the cornucopia headed for the woods to the northwest. Peeta and Marvel traveled to the right. The District Two pair headed towards the mid-western pocket of the forest and watched with fascination as the hovercraft collected its bounty.

"Everdeen headed that way," Clove informed him, pointing to the thick of the forest.

"We'll start there. Have Lover boy lead. Maybe make a few stops along the way and pick out some more competitors." He performed a brief side sweep assessment of the coniferous trees to discern what lied in the distance.

Clove watched as the hovercraft retrieved the last of bodies, then turned back to him.

"This is the real deal."

On her fingers, Clove began to tally up the remaining count. The real deal, hm? she thought.

_ Well, eleven down. Eleven remaining.  
_

* * *

"What the hell was that?" the District Four mentor demanded as he neared the station for the mentors from Two. His mentoring partner, an older woman, only shook her head in disagreement.

Everyone recognized the bronze-haired young man. He was by far the most popular winner in the 73 years of games that preceded this one. He was an anomaly, having won at fourteen. Felix had been eight years old then, fresh with grief from his parents' deaths, and this man, this victor, had given him hope for a better future._  
_

Finnick Odair was his idol.

Of course, it was taboo back home to idolize victors from other districts when Two had such a wide range itself, but Felix didn't care even a little bit.

Johanna Mason, winner of the 72nd games, stood by Finnick with an excitable expression, watching with glee, "Finnick Odair, I don't think I've ever seen you this mad."

"Shut up," he and Felix told her at the same time. Felix's feelings towards Johanna could not have been further on the spectrum than his for Odair. When he'd gone on tour in Seven, she'd harassed him with spiteful remarks at his expense that left him feeling uneasy about the rest of his tour. While it now dawned on him that he'd been a bit oversensitive, he still didn't like her. She was a regular ray of sunshine, the axe-wielding instigator from Seven.

The brunette only backed off, amused at the scene unfolding in front of her. Finnick had a good three inches and fifty pounds on the sleek-haired Felix and he was looming over him with a threatening, barely contained fury.

"You honestly didn't see that coming?" Athena taunted from her seat, chuckling, and giving the laziest effort at assistance that she could. She shook her head with a self-satisfied expression, "Maybe doing this for the last 8 years wasn't your best idea, pretty boy."

It was a cold, cruel statement because there was no one else to take his place. At least no one mentally or physically fit for such responsibility.

"Loyalty is supposed to mean something, Two. Just because you're a rookie-"

Felix's eyes darkened, stung by the jeer on several levels, most having nothing to do with Finnick, "You know nothing of loyalty, Odair."

Remembering Mariana, the first girl he'd ever synonymously respected and physically appreciated, only made his stomach tighten. He'd let himself be blinded by the older girl, who'd smiled, joked, and fought alongside him. Two days in, she formed a secondary alliance with the girls within the career alliance, killed Silk, and then left the odds three against one...

"I couldn't control what hap-"

The raven-haired teen cut him off, placing his hand in a 'stop' motion. "Your remaining tribute, she earned a 9. She has a chance. The small fry was toast from the second they plucked his name from the bowl." He watched the screen intently as the alliance came together, "You hear Cato? Marvel's the only one he wants, but yet your remaining tribute sticks. Stop worrying and do your job."

Finnick's eyes stormed, contemplating what to say next. This conversation had certainly taken an unpleasant turn.

"Been a few days since you got laid, Odair?" the two heard. Both turned furiously towards the booth for District One, "Loosen up."

Finnick put on a smooth face, a friendly smirk replacing the previous scowl, "Been a while since I saw you last, Cashmere."

Gloss' face hardened, but he remained coolly impassive as his sister replied with a wide smile. "Now, doesn't Mr. Grey have a point? Lex talionis, Finnick. An eye for an eye."

"You've forgotten the context of that quote," Finnick snorted.

"Yes, Cash," Gloss said with a wan smile, "Does it not read, 'An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind?'"

The luscious, decadent blonde only shrugged, managing to look beautiful in even such a simple motion, "As long as it's not Marvel going blind, I suppose it doesn't matter."

"You weren't around for my victory tour," Felix commented, pulling his arms back lazily, "We've yet to make acquaintance. I'm Felix Grey, what's up?"

Cashmere looked over the olive-skinned teen. "You're cute, sweetie," she smiled seductively, "Welcome to the pack."

"Bombshell over there might look nice, but she might just swallow you whole," Johanna taunted, considerably less amused than before. Felix didn't hide an eye roll at that. As cheesy and utterly inappropriate as it was, he could hardly contain his excitement to be surrounded by such an exclusive group of individuals.

The blonde narrowed her eyes, "You are such a child, Johanna."

"Rather be a child than seduce a child," Johanna shot back hotly. Finnick sighed, dragging Johanna away with him.

"Mr. 73, back to work," Athena ordered him, pointing her head to his empty seat. As he took his seat, she gave him a pointed look, and he redirected his attention back to the screen, where Cato and Clove were sorting through the food and setting up packs for each member of the team. Unlike many of the other tributes who'd grabbed the first thing they'd laid hands on, these backpacks were more color-neutral, black and green instead of orange and red.

Every few seconds, one or two tributes in the alliance would glimpse over their should warily, before fixating on the tasks assigned to them. In the ten minutes that had elapsed while Felix and Finnick had begun talking, Peeta Mellark and Marvel Sinclair had set up the first of three tents. Each tent comfortably fit two tributes, but if they tried, a third tribute could be fit in as well.

Glimmer Maxwell and Kailani Calder, meanwhile, sorted through the weapons and began to lay them out: spears, knives, axes, swords, scythes, even a singular bow and a sling of arrows.

Athena had created a column of the surviving tributes, which Felix gave a brisk once over: Marvel, Glimmer, Cato, Clove, Datum, Kailani, Reyna, Taylor, Weston, Little Rue, Thresh, Katniss, and Peeta.

The screen flashed and each non-career was given about fifteen seconds of screen-time between a split screen: the boy from Three catching his breath, the redhead from Five marking random patches with the heel of her boot, and the girl from Eight holding to her pack for dear life. The screen flashed again, showcasing the boy from Ten near tears, while the girl from Eleven traveled west, trying to keep quiet, and the boy from Eleven strove north towards a plain of wheat fields.

Unsurprisingly, Katniss, from Twelve, consumed the entire screen as it flashed again. She had yet to stop running, not even to rummage through the contents of her pack, and continued heading towards the southwestern edge of the forest.

The lake in the northwestern region of the arena was abandoned, with each tribute walking further and further away from it. He hadn't caught sight of supplies, but Felix's dark eyes narrowed with uncertainty. If the tributes started to die out from malnourishment and dehydration, the Capitol would grow bored and they'd draw the tributes together with muttations, effects, or weather phenomena.

In a free for all, Cato or Clove could be left in imminent risk. They'd have been the first to go in Annie Cresta's finale, he knew.

"I think it'd be smart to withhold any further supplies until they head towards the lake."

"I agree," Athena replied, watching as each career was granted a first pick of weapons. Glimmer hesitated, before snatching up the bow and quiver of arrows. Marvel quirked his eyebrows up at that, but only stalked forward to retrieve a small selection of spears, "There are seven tributes to hunt before the alliance dissolves. The best way to smoke them out is to monopolize the water supply."

Peeta, who had last pick of weapons, selected a knife. Predictably, Clove crossed her arms, and pounced, purring, "Well, then. Let's see what you can do."

_We abandoned the sociopathic child approach years ago, Clove, _Felix thought to himself with a sigh as he slumped in his chair. This was a waste of time. Obviously, Peeta Mellark wasn't going to be able to do much, but the spirited minx always had to play with her food.

Peeta strove towards the food supply and picked up two stalks of celery, "Anyone hungry?" No one moved to stop him, so he walked forward, placing the stalks on a flat serving plate. With a deep breath, the boy began to hack furiously, dicing the vegetable into small, precise pieces.

Marvel only laughed, slapping him on the back, "Now just do that to the other tributes and you might actually have a chance, kid."

"It's not quite that easy, Marvel," Clove scowled.

Peeta stood awkwardly, growing embarrassed as the career alliance made a spectacle of him. Unsure what to do next, he flushed an ugly red. He took a second heavy breath, before flinging the same knife directly towards Clove. Her eyes widened, and she hastily swerved to the side and out of immediate range of the knife.

"Goodbye Peeta Mellark," Felix said with an exasperated sigh, "A lot of good you did us, Bread Boy."

At first, there was no immediate reaction from the trained alliance. Just stunned silence. Kailani and Marvel slackened, not daring to venture forward. Glimmer just blinked, still unsure how to process what she had just seen.

"Whoa, Lover Boy," Cato hooted, impressed. He walked towards the blonde, an amused smirk plastered to his smug face the whole time.

The ash-blonde avoided Cato's gaze. "That took a lot of nerve," Cato gave a sadistic laugh, wrapping his right hand around Peeta's neck and lifting him off the ground. His tone shifted, his teeth gnashing together as he sneered, "But, if you ever do that again, I'll take great pleasure in breaking every bone in your fucking body. All 206."

He dropped Peeta to the floor, giving him a swift kick to the stomach, and muttering to himself as he stalked off, "Fuckin' District Twelve scum."

* * *

**AN** - I based the ending scene off of the line, "he's handy with that knife." Which one of the careers says while Peeta kills the girl from 8. I was sort of wondering how they came to that conclusion, so this is how I decided it panned out.

I've created a blog with various notes, comments, and explanations of things that happen in the story. It's an inside glimpse to my thoughts and research as I write. It's got pictures of how I imagine the parents, a map of the District Two, and insight about how I created the characters. Right now, I'm up to chapter 33. Check it out at theunwindingcircle on tumblr.

Please review!


	42. The Juxtaposition

The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.

- St. Augustine

* * *

Peeta had been especially on edge since his lapse of judgement with Clove. Whenever Cato and Clove weren't around, though, Marvel would shoot him approving grins. The ash-blonde wasn't really sure how he felt about that. The curly-haired teen was such a happy little creature that Peeta didn't know whether to befriend him or to be afraid of him.

After going of on their own for a few minutes, Cato and Clove had come back to him and Marvel, commanding them to disassemble the tents, and when Marvel had the tenacity to ask why, the two had only scowled at him. Kailani, however, played intermediary and politely rephrased the question in a less accusing manner.

"We've been asking our mentor for supplies for the last ten minutes and we haven't gotten a thing."

Marvel scoffed, desperately hoping to himself that the axe murderers from Two had lost their sponsors. He didn't hold his breath, though.

Glimmer only gave Cato a sweet smile, leaning on his arm, and innocently asking, "So, what does that mean?"

Cato removed himself from her reach, looking to somewhere in between being put out and highly uncomfortable. "Presumably, it means he wants us to do something."

"He?" Kailani piqued, "What about the girl mentor, yours, Clove?"

"As long as we are together, we are a single unit and have a single line of sponsor gifts," Clove explained blandly, "There's obviously something our mentor wants us to pick up out of his omission of supplies."

Peeta stood off-center from the group, "Maybe your mentors want you to head towards water. It's what I'd have my tributes do if I were a mentor."

Cato rolled his eyes, tired of the boy from Twelve talking out of line, but anything was better than sexpot and her big mouth. Oh, speak of the devil.

Glimmer crossed her arms, replying in a snotty tone, "We have plenty of water."

Marvel withheld a sigh. _They really are morons, _he thought bitterly. "Yeah, and if we have all the water, how is everyone else going to survive?" he snapped at the group.

Cato was tempted to tell the curly-haired teen not be such a 'bitch,' before reprimanding himself. _Marvel is not Dicey. _Though, he wished the redhead was there - only for a moment, of course - just to see who'd win between him and Marvel.

Cato turned to Clove, who only gave him an exasperated expression. She scratched at her neck subconsciously, a clear signal of impatience on her part, but unlike Nero or Dicey, the other trained tributes didn't know this about Clove. They were walking a fine line trying her goodwill. Stitched in her skin was a faint scar. He'd given it to her years ago, when she'd come to care for him following his brother's death. It'd been an accident, but a juvenile part of him liked that he had a special claim to her.

There were gaps in his memory, some that alarmed him, but there was no way to notify Clove of the problem without notifying the whole of Panem, and that was the last thing he planned to do.

So he repeated his orders, and got to work condensing their supplies while Marvel and Peeta put away the tents. Kailani then prepared each official member of the trained alliance a water canister, before turning to Cato, "And District Twelve?"

The blonde nodded, "All of us need to be at full capacity. One man down slows all men down."

In Kailani's eyes, Cato wasn't a bad leader. He was equitable and accountable, but the manner in which he'd utilized Rio's death still left a pit in her stomach. Though the young boy had never told her much, he'd given her easy smiles and complimented her skills with a spear. Most years, she found the games to be a good show, but anytime a youngster was plucked from the bowl, there was always a sense of unease, of lost potential.

She handed Peeta a water canister and he gave her an appreciative half-smile. Kailani sighed, he didn't know what he got himself into when he asked to be a part of the alliance. He'd soon find out, though. Marvel only grinned, making her skin crawl, "So, you're pretty smart and all, what'd you do for the game makers?"

"I sang for them," she deadpanned.

Marvel look dumbfounded for a moment, before laughing, "Good one, Kay."

"My name is Kailani. If that's too hard, you may call me Four, but do not call me Kay."

He frowned as she staggered back towards Glimmer. For some reason, she'd become more attached to the beautiful blonde girl than the oh-so-hilarious Marvel. "What's her problem?" he asked, pouting.

Peeta chuckled to himself, "You're like a puppy."

Marvel glared and Peeta shrunk back, but the elder boy only confided to him with a sigh, "I'm not going to skin you yet, Lover Boy. Even out, kid."

"Can I ask you something?"

_You already did, _a childish part of him replied. "You're better conversation than Glim, so why not?"

"Do you want to be here? When you were reaped, no one volunteered for you, but that's really atypical for your district, isn't it?"

Marvel gave him a perverted grin, "Course I do. My luck's not as rotten as yours', but I got a girl back home too."

Peeta nodded, looking unsatisfied with his answer, which left Marvel only more confused.

If Twelve cared at all for his district partner, then why the hell was he here? If someone he cared for was in the games, he'd have followed them anywhere. How the hell was this kid going to protect his partner when he was paling around with them? Like, if Regan had been in the games, he'd have done almost anything to protect her.

If it was him against Alexandria, she'd go down. After all, fiances-you've-never-actually-dated are easy to replace. Twin sisters are not.

Perhaps this was why he'd have lost. Cato and Clove, whatever they were, didn't seem to even acknowledge the fact that there could only be one winner. To them, it was more of a contest than a fight to the death. As he and Peeta compressed the last tent, the ash-blonde looked at him gratefully, "Thanks for not ripping my guts out."

"Not yet, anyways," Marvel said seriously, a crack of a smile on his face.

"It's cooling down," Peeta observed, turning from side to side, "You think it's almost sunset?"

Marvel looked up, "Who knows when the sun sets in this thing? None of it's real."

Peeta didn't reply, only grabbed Marvel's end of the tent and took it back towards the center, by the cornucopia. "Hey, Lover Boy," Clove called over, "Your girlfriend, where do you think she'd go?"

"Uh," he looked around, then pointed vaguely northwest, "Probably towards the edge. She'd want to be as far away from the cornucopia as possible."

Clove watched with distrustful eyes, before prompting him to pick up several different boxes of supplies, but it became too much and he was unable to see over the containers, dropping them to the floor. She scowled, tackling him to the ground and twisting his arm, "Are you trying to sabotage us, Lover Boy?" she seethed, cutting his arm with a very small knife.

He shook his head, "No, I swear."

"Clove," Cato warned, and she released him, retreating back to Cato. For only a second, the blonde placed his hand on her back.

She turned to him, growling, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

While her mouth said one thing, her eyes conveyed an entirely different message. "You seemed tense, sprite," Cato sneered in return, hoping she understood.

"I'm fine, don't pull that shit with me again. Understand me?" Clove snapped.

He almost wanted to smile at that, "Your call, sweetheart."

Glimmer opened her mouth to say something - "Glimmer, I don't want to fucking hear it right now." - but deflated when Cato told her off.

"This chat's been super fun, but we still planning on hunting any tributes sometime in the next decade?" Marvel asked crassly.

Kailani dragged Glimmer with her to begin picking up the smaller crates of essential supplies. They weren't moving fast enough for her, and she was sure that the longer they remained in one place, the more suffocating the air would become.

She and the blonde girl headed northwest, leading the pack as they moved diagonally. They'd left much of the supplies back at the cornucopia, only bringing items they couldn't afford to lose. After about ten minutes, they made it to the water's edge of the lake and Kailani grinned, letting out a sigh of relief.

From what she'd seen in previous years, specifically the last game her district had won, Two were not good swimmers. She contemplated all the ways in which she could drown them and wondered how many seconds they'd last before exhaling their last breath. It filled her with a sick glee and a desperate need to test her theory.

"Kailani!" Glimmer called back and the black-haired girl broke from her brief moment of insanity.

"Uh, I'm coming," she told the blonde, mildly perturbed by her dark thoughts. Yes, the games were entertaining, but in the end she still wanted to be her. Then again, she wasn't sure. Finnick, one of her mentors, was entirely too much like himself.

Cato, meanwhile, looked up to the sky and called out, "What about now?"

A small parachute, the first in the entire game, floated towards them. Cato opened it, a brief glance of recognition in his eyes, before looking nonplussed at the small capsule and smirking, "Here, Clove. I don't need any of this pussy shit."

The small girl exuded a sigh and took the capsule from her partner, "Thank you, Fix," she announced, and pocketed the small packet. With a cold mask, she taunted, "I'll hold onto this for you, darling."

"Only if it makes your feel better, little one," Cato mocked.

After moving most of the supplies about 100 feet from the lake, the group took a break and ate dinner. Around this time, the sky began to darken, so after they'd finished their meal, Clove stood up. She stretched her arms, "Cato and I are gunning for highest kill count. Anyone want in?"

As a symbol of boredom, Marvel lazily waved his hand, "I'll play."

"Good, then let's see what you got, moptop."

To Glimmer's and Peeta's immense displeasure, the initiation of the first night of hunting involved being quick to one's feet. They alternated between running and walking for several hours. Cato was quickest, much like a sprinter, but struggled to maintain his speed for long periods of time. Clove was slower, but had a higher endurance. Marvel, unsurprisingly, was quick and not only energetic, but extremely enthusiastic, letting out cheers.

They were six hours into hunting, having yet to find a single tribute. Along the way, Peeta sprained his foot after tripping on a tree root. Cato and Clove only glowered at his incompetence.

Marvel continue to cheer for a few more hours, before Kailani had to tell him to shut up, warning him in an exhausted breath that if there were any tributes in the surrounding areas, that he'd probably scared them off.

Glimmer gave out a gasp of pleasure immediately after Kailani's admonishing words and breathed out, "Oh look! A fire! How wonderful," she giggled, and caught up to Cato, hooking onto his arm. For a moment, he was so excited that he didn't do anything in retaliation, but once he realized that Glimmer was touching him, he pushed her off with a growl.

"I'm not fucking interested," he snapped at her, looking repulsed at her very being. Cato felt tempted to hit her over the head with his flashlight and nearly dry heaved from contact with the girl, as Glimmer stalked back towards Kailani, offended at the reaction to her District One most-valued traits. The boy from Two obviously didn't know a prize when he saw it.

Clove held the torch firmly in hand, grasping it closely to herself and Cato in hopes it would keep the both of them warm as they got closer to their next victim.

The half-dozen sneaked up on a sleeping girl from one of the outlying districts. Cato and Clove wrestled with each other for the chance to surpass the others' kill count, when Cato snatched the torch and pushed Clove to the ground, "Maybe, if you're good Clove, I'll give you the next one," he taunted with an arrogant smile.

As Marvel started to laugh at Clove's misfortune, the girl from 8, Taylor, woke up and pleaded for her life. Clove only groaned in returned. It'd have been more entertaining to have watched her run, the hunt would have been more thrilling, but Cato quickly stuck her with his sword, and her wail of agony pierced the air.

The group laughed at girl, mocking her high-pitched scream.

"Congratulations, Cato."  
"Fuck you, Cato."  
"Nice work, man," and then, "12 down and 11 to go!"

They all hooted collectively. The game was halfway over in less than 24 hours time. They would go down in history as the most efficient career pack in the history of the games. Kailani was the only one concerned about supplies, but as they went through her bag, they found nothing but matches.

"Better get out before the body starts stinking," Cato suggested, and the group nodded, trailing southbound from their first post-bloodbath victim.

They walked about a quarter mile when Marvel piped up, "Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?"

"I say yes. Nothing to have prevented it from going off immediately," Kailani remarked, humoring him.

"Unless she isn't dead," Clove added with a delectable glee as she smirked at Cato.

Cato's cheeks reddened in fury, "She's dead, I stuck her myself!"

"Then where's the cannon?" Glimmer added, bating him. Cato only grew angrier at the insinuation of failure.

Kailani looked to Cato seriously, "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

Marvel nodded in agreement, "Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice!"

"I said she's dead!" Cato screamed at them, but no one relented. While angry at being questioned, Cato was mostly just frustrated. Felix was wrong. Not only did his team not respect him, they apparently didn't like him much either as the situation had escalated very much out of his control.

Peeta, who had yet to say anything, only stood silently as the group argued. Eventually, he grew impatient and yelled,  
"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on."

For the second time in less than 24 hours, the tribute from Twelve had surprised the career alliance with his gall.

"Go on then, Lover Boy. See for yourself," Cato spat at him. Peeta nodded and stumbled away towards the girl from Eight.

And somewhere out in Panem, Cato Elroy had just become the laughing stalk of District Two.

* * *

**AN** - Hope everyone has had a good week so far. I finally turned 21! Anyways, just wanted to let you guys know I'm working an AU Clato fic, which you can find on my profile under 'Ashes and Lullabies.' It's an easier read for all of you, actually, because you already know all of the original characters, so you don't have to relearn them.

_Please review!_


	43. The Unbalancing

Remember, it's better to burn out than fade away.

- Kurt Cobain

* * *

Peeta disappeared from sight, returning to the girl from 8. Once out of sight, an entirely new conversation broke out in hushed whispers.

"Why don't we just kill him and get it over with?" Glimmer asked, arching her brows and sighing dramatically. Sometimes, Cato wondered if Glimmer purposely tried to drive him crazy. Between the lack of boundaries and maddening inability to shut up, she was shaping up to be his first victim the second the alliance dissolved. The minute he'd voiced his lack of interest in her, she'd gone from gratingly flirtatious to plain ol' grating.

Cato scowled. It seemed he couldn't make a single decision without being questioned by someone! He may not have Clove's cunning, but he certainly was just as smart... right?

Marvel shrugged airily, "Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife."

Clove's face heated, and for a moment Cato had to hide a satisfied grin. After Twelve's mishap, he and Clove had broken away from the group, and he'd enjoyed giving her a lot of shit for her _less than graceful_ dodge. The blonde was pleased to find that she was less angry about the whole incident and more defensive. That had been the reaction he'd been hoping for.

Playing up all the angles was exhausting, but he'd do it to keep their relationship strictly their own.

"Beside he's our best chance of finding_ her,_" Cato added, an aggressive sneer gracing his features at Glimmer's doubts.

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?" she asked skeptically, holding protectively to her torch.

_As if that'd save you, _he thought to himself.

Clove, who'd sat out this round, only supplemented unhelpfully, "She might have, seemed pretty simple minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress, I want to puke."

And that wasn't an exaggeration in the slightest. Neither had been impressed with Katniss' prissy girl act. She'd mocked the long-standing, respectable traditions the games had been built on. A tinge of fury swept Cato's cheeks as he recalled the previous nights' revelations. He'd be watching Peeta Mellark very carefully.

"Wish we knew how she got that 11."

"Bet you, Lover Boy knows," Clove shot back, before hushing them as Peeta returned.

As he came closer, Cato asked, "Was she dead?"

"No, but she is now. Ready to move on?"

They broke out into a run, leaving the observing Katniss Everdeen safe for the time being. As they trailed away from their victim, Marvel led the pack. It made sense - in this instance only, Cato told himself - simply because he the quickest and would forewarn against any ditches, strange muttations, or staggering tributes. Because of this, Cato and Clove purposely stayed at the heel of the group, giving each other light grins only seen in the light of Clove's torch.

"Score's still tied, hot stuff," Clove teased, leading him by just a foot or two as they jogged.

Cato arched his eyebrows at the challenge, "Still deluding yourself into thinking you can win?"

"Well, if I had to bet between me and you..."

The blonde laughed at her brashness. More than anything, he wanted to pick her up, spin her around, and hold her hostage until she begged him (giggling, in his imagination) to put her down. Of course, that would be humanizing. That would cross the whole 'sexually-intimidating mass murderer' approach that Felix worked oh-so-hard to prepare.

If the fucker enjoyed the approach so much, why hadn't he adapted it himself? Instead, Felix had played the 'energetic younger brother' archetype, having been the only trained tribute under 18 in the 73rd Annual Hunger Games. Raul Valleo needed a serious head check for that approach.

Even regarding Katniss Everdeen, Cato didn't want to be 'sexually intimidating.' He was skilled, not sadistic. Well, at least not as sadistic as say Enobaria Jamison. Mostly, he wanted to make the scum from Twelve beg for her pathetic life and to acknowledge her cardinal sins against them. It wouldn't hurt for her to tell him how she'd gotten that damn 11 either.

That wasn't sadistic, was it?...

Honor was the end-all goal. He wasn't Clove. He didn't want a bloody show.

Their second day in the arena was uneventful. Neither managed to secure a single kill all day, nor did any of their allies. Instead, they'd organized their supplies by the lake, waited for tributes to come out of hiding, and went hunting at night. After failing to find a single hiding tribute, the disappointed bunch returned to camp early, and Kailani prepared them a steak dinner, warning that the meat would soon go bad if unused. Peeta had eaten silently and offered to take first watch, which Cato allowed.

While the supplies rested 30 yards away, the tents had been erected much closer to the campfire. The previous night, after they'd eliminated the girl from Eight, Marvel and Glimmer had slept in the same tent, while he and Clove, and Kailani and Twelve had used the other two. On the second night, Glimmer announced her intent to sleep beside Kailani instead. Marvel's mood brightened considerably at that revelation.

To show her gratitude (read: contempt), the blonde offered to forage for food and went further into the forest, returning in a bubbly mood at her prized bounty, "Look what I found, everyone. What a treat!"

In the palm of her hands were small, bumpy berries. If Cato had to guess, they looked almost like mutated raspberries, much larger than packaged fruit they sold back home. "I don't like berries," he said, gritting his teeth. Glimmer sighed, bothered by his overly-dramatic response to her findings. It wasn't like she'd force him to consume the delight. Not yet, anyway.

"What about you, Clovey?" Glimmer asked.

The brunette's eyes narrowed coolly, "What did you call me?"

It seemed a moment didn't go by where the tributes from Two weren't exuberant in their misery. Would it hurt for them to lighten up and even pretend to acknowledge more than one another?

Cato gladly interfered before the situation escalated, restating once again, "No berries. They're-"

"They have antioxidants," Glimmer countered pointedly. She'd eat every single one of them on her own. That was absolutely fine with her.

He growled, holding his sword up threateningly, "Next time I have to repeat something to you, it'll be your neck."

The older girl stuck out her bottom lip, before turning to her other, less troubling allies. Kailani tried to give her a supportive smile, while Marvel continued to look uninterested in anything his allies said, "Does anyone else want them?"

"I said no berries, Glimmer!" Cato screamed, rushing to his feet and narrowing in dangerously close to her face. The fire in his eyes made her feel uneasy, and she pondered to herself if a raspberry had eaten his whole family and maybe that was why he seemed just moments away from a heart attack.

A stern grasp pulled him away from her, asserting, "We don't know if they're poisonous or not. Even you know better than to eat blindly, Sparkle Shine."

Glimmer slumped against the tree trunk, grumbling mostly to herself, "But why do you care?"

"That's a great question, actually. Why do you care, Cato?" Marvel asked, less invested in the conversation and more into the possibility of Glimmer's immediate death.

Cato glared at the District One tributes, realizing he'd been cornered, and brazenly lied, "I'm allergic." He saw a certain light flare in his allies eyes and smirked cruelly in response, "Before you even dare think of that as some small victory, consider what I'll do to you if you even fucking try."

Glimmer scoffed, before heading back into the forest on her own. She may have not been Marsha, but she doubted any of the remaining untrained tributes posed any immediate risk to her safety.

Marvel went back to cleaning his spear, admiring the reflective shine off the campfire and doing his best to ignore his allies' complaints. At least Kailani knew when to keep quiet. At least one person on his team knew when to shut up. Peeta Mellark had proven repeatedly that he didn't. Which would have impressed Marvel with how gusty it was, if wasn't so plainly stupid as well.

Clove crossed her arms. It seemed to be her and Cato's trademark pose, which Marvel found a bit trite. They needed a new tactic. "I hope you haven't forgotten our last promise, Blondie."

"What of it?" Cato panned, unamused.

She arched her brows, a smug expression on her face, "Just reminding you that I plan to keep it."

Cato released a patronizing laugh, "Let's hope so, sweetheart."

"And what sort of promise was that? That you'd eat at least three other tributes by game's end?" Marvel guessed aloud. He'd meant to keep the commentary to himself, but he'd gotten tired of mentally scolding himself for actually wanting to be at summer camp with two psychos, a soap opera star, her lesbian sidekick, and the lovesick dipshit from Twelve.

What had he been thinking?

The duo turned to him with a glare, before Clove countered in a saccharine tone, "Why, are you volunteering?"

Cato gave him a predatory grin, "Actually, we promised our undying love, but your idea sounds much more fun, Marvel."

"I'd bet on the latter a dozen times before the former," Marvel snorted at the blonde's sarcastic response. If the pair from Two were developing a plan - as he suspected they were - then maybe it was time he created his own. The alliance wouldn't last forever. "I'm taking second watch. You can come get me in a few hours, Bread Boy," he announced, before retreating to the confines of his tent.

The next day, they traveled up and down the lake's path searching for tributes, but to their displeasure, found none. It was a long, long, monotonous trip that left Marvel in a less than stellar mood. At the end of their third day in the arena, he didn't even bother volunteering to take watch. He left it to Peeta, Cato, Kailani, and whomever else's fancy it tickled.

He contemplated asking Glimmer to reenact scenes from Diamond Heist while he made fun of the show's plot holes. He then imagined various different scenarios jumping Peeta Mellark, just to see the boy piss his pants, before deciding against provoking Cato - or Clove.

He went to bed wishing for entertainment. He'd soon enough get his fill.

Glimmer awoke the next day feeling utterly exhausted, decrepit, and worn out. Today was their fourth day in the arena and she'd thought after such an exhilarating start that they'd have been closer to wrapping this whole thing up. Instead, here they were three days later with only one post-bloodbath kill, and it been committed by Peeta Mellark of all people.

It had only been a week since Clove had asked if she had any skills, but it might as well have been a year, because the days were passing slower and slower. When the barely sane midget had inquired to such matters, she'd rightly given the girl a half-assed answer. It was true, certainly, that she performed most of the stunts in Diamond Heist, but what should have been obvious to the career alliance was apparently so obvious that it didn't even register.

_"You're not good at anything!"_ Cato's partner had accused.

They were all so half-witted. An actress had two jobs. One to look the part, and the other to _act_ the part. Was this really such a novel concept that they'd yet to discover that she'd been stringing them along the whole time? She had as much interest in Cato as she did a toad, though she doubted kissing the blonde would turn him into a prince.

She left the tent to find Kailani sitting on a log, a few embers briskly flying in the mild wind. "Morning," she greeted with a yawn.

Kailani gave her a brief smile, "Did you sleep well, Glimmer?"

Glimmer gave her an exhausted shrug, "Not really, but I've been thinking, what if the other tributes have come together? Datum, Weston, Reyna, Thresh, Rue, all them. What if they've built a second alliance and that's why the game makers have left us to our own misgivings?"

The dark-haired girl from Four poked at the embers with a stick, "Anything's possible, I suppose, but it'd be too convenient. A second bloodbath on the 4th day?"

"It was just a thought," Glimmer shrugged. She didn't look forward to having to kill this particular ally, but she'd do whatever it took to survive, even if it mean stabbing her closest friend in the back.

Back home, Kailani had always worn a watch. Her friends had often teased her about it, but she didn't mind. Didn't they say time is money? Well, she didn't have a lot of money, but she made sure to put every second she had towards earning some.

The sun had only been shining for a few hours, so if she had to guess, it might have been about eight. The arena was artificial, though, and none of them knew if it was meant to replicate the geographical world. So far, they'd been measuring days in sunsets. They'd accrued three so far, and later on tonight, they'd add another to their belt.

She woke up Marvel, who looked up to her in a sleepy bemusement, "What time is it, Kay?"

At the hurt expression marring her face, he apologized quietly, "Sorry, forgot." The curly-haired boy's tenderness surprised her, stirring up archaic sensibilities. Her older brother had called her that long ago, but he'd disconnected himself from the Calder family years and years ago, traveling elsewhere in Four. Her nose tingled and eyes gleamed knowing she'd most likely never see him again, but that was another thought for another lifetime.

"You alright?" Marvel asked, looking slightly uncomfortable, and maybe even guilty.

"No," she replied sullenly, "If we don't hunt any tributes today, they could drown us all."

"Or set us on fire," Marvel supplemented, trying to be happy, but looking utterly burnt out. The arena had been affecting him too, she'd found.

She nodded, "Don't give em any ideas, Marv."

"My mom calls me that," he notified her, pulling on his jacket, and running a hand through his mussed up hair.

Kailani laughed lightly, "Well, if it'll stop your creepy flirting, I'll take it."

He gave her a bewildered expression, "I was not flirting. I was being a nice guy."

"The group can't really afford two Lover Boys, Marvel," she said, eying the knocked-out blonde beside him.

"He does not have a monopoly on kindness," the green-eyed boy argued.

The sixteen-year-old girl smiled slightly, her lips pursed in amusement, "I suppose not."

She withdrew from the tent before Glimmer came up with any ideas and pointed hazily to the sleeping blonde beside him, suggesting to Marvel that he soon wake him. He nodded, giving her a grin and a strange thumbs up.

The few steps to Cato and Clove's tent came hesitantly. She was the only tribute among their collective the pair from Two had yet to castigate, but that was because she already maintained a healthy level of distance from them. So, she stood outside of their tent and spoke aloud, "Clove, Cato - It's about 8." In the shadows, it almost looked as if the smaller of the bodies, Clove's, was resting on Cato's, but she pushed the thought aside.

They might be bed buddies, but she doubted they had the capability to be not only physically intimate, but also emotionally so as well. She retreated to Glimmer as the pair escaped from their tent, walking over to the lake and filling their canisters and supplying them with iodine tablets. Following that, they brought over a crate of food and began packing each tribute's bags with some snacks, beef jerky, fruit leather, and apples.

Once the whole alliance had gathered around and the fire had been doused, Clove announced that they would travel southbound through the forest until reaching the farthest edge. It'd be a long day's journey and none of them were looking forward to it, but seeing as they'd yet to catch a tribute coming out for water, the foregone conclusion was that most of the tributes must have headed in the wrong direction following the bloodbath and were now lost.

Clove then added with a malicious smirk, "They're lucky to have as nice friends as us to guide them home."

Once more, they traveled in pairs. This time, Glimmer and Peeta led the troop, while Kailani and Marvel followed at the heel. Cato and Clove naturally fell in the middle and though Clove wasn't entirely sure, she had an inkling that Cato had placed each of them purposely. Perhaps, based on whom he favored least and whom he favored only slightly more.

Around noon or so, or what was noon according to the fish girl from Four, they were thrown into chaos. It was almost as if a button was flipped and the whole forest was set alight. For a moment, the group was stunned, unsure what was happening, before a fireball descended upon them.

Cato, though he didn't have to, yelled for them to run. It was a natural presumption, but Clove could read it on the blonde's face. He was panicking. They sprinted as quickly as they could, before she lost her equilibrium and crashed to the ground, earning a bloody gash on her kneecap on the way down.

Fifteen seconds passed before the blonde realized Clove had fallen, and raced back to her, losing sight of the others. "Clove, we've got to go."

She nodded faintly, blinded by the brightness of the flames.

She staggered back to her feet and he followed her, making sure she kept to her feet. After several minutes, he realized he'd long lost the alliance in the discord. When they were close to the edge of the forest, smoke inhalation blocked his air pathways and he fell to the ground, hacking. Clove turned back for him, but he very faintly shook his head, a tiredness overtaking him as he failed to gather enough strength to stand.

Remaining on all fours, he dragged himself as much as he could, wincing at the overwhelming heat, but continuing despite it.

Fire, heat, desert, he hated it all; The Girl On Fire, who'd robbed him of the top score. District Two's unkind climate and how it failed to fully prepare his brother for the 69th Annual Hunger Games. His mother, her passion for the color red, and the only memory he had akin to this one. His mother cackling at him after drenching him with a pot of boiling water, and the twenty feet he'd crawled seeking personal reprieve.

Cato Elroy had never gone without a fight before and refused to start now. It took him more than hour for what might have been a fifteen minute brisk walk. With a hacking cough, Clove raced over to him and pulled him the last few feet over the forest's edge. "Can you-" she let out another rough cough, "breath?"

Out of balance, he vaguely swung his head, "Water, Clovey," he begged. She rummaged through her sack, ordering him to open his mouth, and haphazardly poured water into his mouth. Cato swallowed as much of he could, though some of the water sputtered. He leaned against Clove's legs as she stood and took heavy, clearing breaths.

"I owe you one," he muttered deliriously.

"Shut up," the brunette snapped, waving him off.

They were left with no time to spare as the rest of the group ran back to them. Clove glared at them. They really had no shame. Some allies they were. "Think we spotted the girl from Twelve," Marvel told the blonde boy.

Cato's eyes immediately went to Peeta's, who was trying and failing to mask his emotions. The muscular boy stood up and Marvel led the way with a hoot, looking much less put out than earlier. Marvel himself wasn't in good shape. None of them were, but they raced after the girl from Twelve, who scaled up the tree surprisingly fast.

She computed the distance with a small grin and called down, "How's everything with you?"

This sent a wave of irritation throughout the whole pack. Cato only replied casually, betraying his anger though not his exhaustion, which was the stronger of his two feelings at the moment, "Well enough, yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," the girl from Twelve lamented teasingly, "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will."

Glimmer immediately tried to hand him her bow and arrows, "Here, take this, Cato."

Cato had to suppress an eye roll, "No. I'll do better with my sword," and pushed the sheath and bow away from himself. He began to ascend the tree, though not as quickly as the girl from Twelve, and he nearly swore, before realizing that might not look good on his end. Katniss waited a few seconds, before scurrying up the tree like some meadow creature.

To his misfortune, Cato didn't make it up very high, and flailed, falling to the ground hard. He bit back a grimace and stood up, swearing in aggravation. Pissed off, Cato turned to the blonde girl, "Go on, then, Glimmer. Let's see what you can do."

It was a test. Everyone knew that Glimmer's only real use had been as eye candy and now their leader was challenging her to go beyond that. She scaled the tree cautiously, watching below as she climbed the branches, but one shook too much for comfort, and she remained only for a minute to shoot an arrow.

Clove cursed the blonde's incompetence as she descended towards the ground. Meanwhile, above, the girl from Twelve waved the arrow teasingly. "Nice work, Glimmer," Clove jeered.

"Oh yeah, Clove?" Glimmer demanded, getting right in her face, "You're smaller. It's your damn turn, bitch."

Clove gave her a mocking glance, extending her arms out dramatically, "It'll be my pleasure."

"No," Cato immediately denied. Several confused eyes quickly locked on him, including Clove's.

Marvel groaned, "Why not? She's only one small enough, dude."

He pushed Marvel against the base of the tree, releasing a feral growl, "I said no!"

Cato couldn't elaborate on his exact reasoning. A gap in memory had taken something precious from him, but a clip remained, of him holding her. _Next time, crazy Clovey gets to save me! _and then a giggle. He didn't understand it, but there was a strong emotional connection, a forewarning, that he had a bad memory of her up high, of her falling.

The brunette watched Cato wearily, clearly not understanding his motives, then looked up at Katniss, before adding with an agreeable sigh, "She's too high, anyway."

"Oh, let her stay up there. Its not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

For the first (and last) time, Cato appreciated the words out of Peeta Mellark's big mouth. Twilight came upon them and the group set up a makeshift camp at the base of the tree. Marvel and Kailani built a fire, while Clove and Cato had a nice, long conversation about the best manner in which to make sure Everdeen's death was revered as the most exquisite in games' history.

Cato kept watch first round, trying to catch a glimpse of Katniss in the tree, but she'd ascended out of his line of sight, spectacularly high. He wondered if she'd ever had a decent meal in her life. She was a scrawny, pathetic creature, smaller than even Clove. He'd been lucky, had grown muscular, tall, but also quite lean. He didn't think anyone would have pegged him for a starving child. At least, he hoped not.

In another lifetime, they might have related to one another - he and Katniss Everdeen. Though here, the only thing thing the duo had in common was their desire to come out on top. Cato was sure his desire was much stronger than her's.

Kailani took second watch and she didn't bother trying to find Katniss in the tree. It was peculiar how someone so small could cause grief so large. Was her ability to climb trees what earned that 11, or was it something more? Sure, the girl from Twelve seemed simple-minded and misguided, but so did Glimmer, and Kailani had actually grown rather fond of the young actress. She had a lot of nerve and ingenuity and that was more than girl from Four could say for herself.

Absentmindedly, the girl gathered a small selection of stones and used each stone as a symbol for each of her allies.

Glimmer, the girl from One, was sly. The 8 she'd earned was most likely not a representation of her archery abilities. Marvel, her partner, was endlessly energetic and more than capable with a spear. She and the boy from One had that in common, though, she'd have bet on him first, simply for his accuracy and speed. He'd been expertly prepared. She was only a fisherman's daughter.

The young woman from Two has was precise and lethal with knives. Though, in Kailani's opinion, too easily provoked. To her fortune, Cato seemed adequate at keeping her in reign. Kailani suspected that he'd dominated her both in training and out. There was no other explanation for her docile behavior, taking every single word he uttered at full value, and quickly applying them. At first, she'd thought Clove drove their relationship, but there'd been a shift since their days in the Capitol. Not that it mattered now, but she hoped Clove had told someone at home what the monster from Two did to her.

The fourth stone, to represent Cato, was placed immediately next to the third. Intellectually speaking, his greatest asset was that he thought of the entire collective as a single body, and thus prepared for various scenarios that might play out. It was a line of thought that hadn't been adapted by any of the previous career alliances. His brutality, intimidating as it was, didn't concern her as much as his easily triggered temper. She wasn't so sure he wouldn't set fire to the camp one night, singing a cult song from his days in Two, consuming their crisp remains alongside a bowl of rice for dinner.

Kailani shuddered and quickly sought her sleeping companion, "It's your watch."

The blonde barely stirred, plagued by horrors in her rest, and gave her a fatigued nod. The girl from Four went to bed haunted by images of events yet to unfold.

Glimmer leaned against the tree.

_Poison._ That was her trade.

You're nothing more than a pretty face, they'd said. As a preteen, she'd asked her mother of the contents of her make up drawer, and mother had only told her to stay away, lest she accidentally taint herself with snake venom. Apparently, it was a popular ingredient in her mother's skin cream.

It'd fascinated her, the chemistry, so she'd studied it carefully. Her producer had been so amused with her fascination that he had the writing team create a batch of episodes in which Marsha and David infiltrated a research lab, bringing in real researchers from the field of toxicology as they filmed on-scene.

In her private session, she'd given the game makers a two-fold presentation. The first, on her acting skills, which they'd said was 'innovative,' and then a long list of commonly toxic plants and their uses, from the bulbs of hyacinth to the commonly lethal nightlock berries that grew beautifully in the open fields. She'd already stored a small gold mine in her pockets, waiting to smear the juices on the cusp of her allies' water canisters. The sensuous blonde would take great delight in their deaths. Oh, they'd regret underestimating her.

You're nothing more than a pretty face, they'd said.

That comforting thought blanketed her in warmth as she laid against the tree, yawning. Soon, sleep found her.

An unspecified amount of time passed, a small explosion tearing the camp to pieces. At first, the blonde had thought it was a nuclear bomb, before a familiar hum filled her ears. They'd filmed an episode with trackerjackers, too.

"To the lake, to the lake!" Cato called, dragging Clove behind him.

Marvel, who'd been behind the duo, soon dashed past them. "Help!" Glimmer screamed, "Please, Kailani, come back! Cato! Marvel!" She choked a pained sob, "Marvel!"

Kailani tried to look back to her, but trailed away, swatting the wasps from her eyes. "Please! please," she begged, succumbing delusions. You're nothing more than a pretty face, they'd said, and _now you're not even that._

* * *

**AN** - Just a note that each perspective is heavily tainted with biases and inaccuracies, in that they're not the most reliable narrators or judges of character.

I've set up a rough outline for this story. 4 more chapters of in-game content, 2 chapters of canon epilogue, and 4 chapters of a single AU storyline. The chapters will become longer and more detailed as I continue, but I'll work to keep them manageable. I don't expect chapters to exceed 4500 words.

As always, please review. This story gets enough views each chapter for me to know that it has a great bunch of regular readers, but it's quite hard to gauge comprehension without feedback. So tell me what you like, don't like, questions, or suggestions.


	44. The Catalyst

Emotive unstable, you're like an unwinding cable car  
Listening for voices, but it's the choices that make us who we are  
Go your own way, even seasons have changed just burn those new leaves over  
So self-absorbed you've seemed to ignore the prayers that have already come about  
This is the correlation of salvation and love.  
Don't drop your arms, _I'll guard your heart._  
With quiet words I'll lead you in.

- Anberlin (The Unwinding Cable Car)

* * *

**If you've yet to read the Trackerjacker and forest fire scene**s, that means you've missed a chapter and need to read chapter 43 first.

* * *

"Guess that means I'm out," Finnick Odair told one of his companions in the distance.

Felix dropped his black jacket on the chair. He should have stayed home. He'd gone from sleeping all day to not sleeping at all. As he had returned from his last job, he'd watched the last scene unfold on a public square in the heart of the city. As soon as he'd seen that, he'd returned as quickly, but composed as he could. He couldn't believe he'd actually wanted to do this once.

"She was smart, Finn," Johanna told him apologetically.

"If it only were that easy." The bronze haired mentor replied, picking up his belongings, and escorting Johanna and his fellow mentor out of the control center. Before the door closed, Johanna turned back, and caught Felix's attention.

"Don't give up, kid. With any luck, the Girl on Fire won't shoot your boy down."

The door slammed behind her before he could ask what that meant. He returned to his screen just in time to watch Katniss Everdeen steal Glimmer Maxwell's bow and sheath of arrows. _Goddamn splendid, _he thought to himself.

A few moments later, Gloss crossly asked his sister if she wanted him to stay to help with Marvel. Perhaps not very discreetly, Felix turned to watch the mentors from One. Gloss' face was morose. "Too bad about your pet, Gloss," Cashmere told him, less sympathetic than what he thought appropriate for the situation.

"She was a good kid, but every star burns out eventually."

The raven-haired mentor managed to successfully tune out the rest of their conversation, burying his head into the palms of his hands. He let out an exasperated grunt, before looking up towards the screen. He contemplated letting Cato suffer through his stings as penance for his questionable leadership decisions. Clove could have ended Everdeen eons ago, and now Peeta Mellark, from Twelve, was darting in the opposite direction, back towards the nest.

"This'll be good," Athena chuckled.

He made an a second note to throttle Nero the next time he saw him. Apparently, some people just wore their hearts on their sleeves. It appeared Peeta and Cato shared this fatal flaw in common. Katniss, in her disillusion, paid her district partner's warnings no heed and stumbled off, her mind in disconnect.

Cato soon reached Peeta, trembling with anger. "You-you traitor! SCUM FROM TWELVE, I SHOULD HAVE NEVER LIST-LIST-" he swayed, uncoordinated.

The ash-blonde fell to the ground, trying to scramble away from Cato.

The tribute from Two gave him a nasty, grueling smirk, "I'm not like Clove, you know, Bread-bread-bread," he started laughing manically. "Never had the stomach, but you know, for you I'll make a special," he swung his sword blindly, as if threatened by an invisible tribute. He caught his breath, "Right, right... A special exception for you, Mellark."

Peeta continued to scurry away, but Cato didn't seem at all bothered, only closing in on him with a perverted grin. With havoc-wrought precision, he brought the blade of his sword upon the boy from Twelve. Peeta released a ear-curdling scream that terrified the remaining mentor from Three so terribly that he fell out of his chair.

Athena's cruel laugh was more distracting than helpful. Felix wondered how she found the scenario funny.

"That's going to hurt like a motherfucker, Twelve," Cato taunted unsympathetically, looking awfully proud, and leaving his victim in the dirt as he sloppily trailed his way back to the lake.

The screen transitioned seamlessly to the surviving career tributes, Clove and Marvel. Both were laying in the lake semi-conscious, afflicted by the venom's effects. This left Felix uneasy. Water wasn't exactly a part of their natural habitat. Marvel floated, pleading incoherently. Felix wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the boy utter the words, "I'm sorry I failed you" and then repeat, "I'm sorry" several times over.

Felix swore at the image of the shaking girl, "Use the allergy pill, H. Come on, come on."

Restless was the only way to describe his mood. He'd seen Clove hurt before, had personally victimized the girl many times over, probably to some unforgivable extremes, but the helpless expression worn on her face made him antsy. He didn't want to even imagine what she was pleading against as she heartwrenchingly murmured, "Please stop. Please-"

The corner of the screen lit up, notifying him of a new deposit in his charges' accounts.

Quietly, he instructed an avox to bring him a pitcher of water. Most of the mentors, especially many of Brutus' generation, drowned their troubles in alcohol. His beverage of sorrow was water. Sometimes, he seemed to forget he was a seventeen year old kid exposed to the blackest bits of humanity, but wholly pure to others. His body was a temple (that was pretty cliche, he'd admitted), not to be tempted by alcohol or drugs.

Not that his clients didn't try.

He had several women who'd tried to goad him into drinking the finest wines, but he'd teased, turned it around, telling them they wouldn't get _the full experience_ if he became intoxicated, and they lapped it all up. His male clients, well, they didn't care. Their experience was less fixated on him and more on their own projected desires, which was fine with him. Well, not really, but he didn't have a choice.

The worst scenarios were always under the guise of sympathy and love. They made him feel feeble, small, and young.

In addition to his regulars, he'd made the rounds, acquiring the necessary funds. While Cato and Clove had earned a fair bounty on their own merits, following Everdeen's 11 there had been less interest in the deadly duo from Two, and more in the heroine from Twelve.

Prices had skyrocketed. Medicine, supplies, clothing would soon be harder to come by. With this information in mind, he'd been developing a sort of insurance policy. Slowly, but surely.

The fact that the girl from Twelve's weapon of choice was a bow and arrow would have been hysterical in any other context. He'd have laughed, jeered, and even mocked Clove, knowing her disdain for the weapon. In this context, it felt cheap, dirty. Cato eventually appeared on the shoreline, quickly falling into unconsciousness.

He waited impatiently for another several hours, before being summoned back to his other duties. When he returned early the next day, Felix watched the girl break from her nightmares, staring at the lake with glassy eyes. What she'd seen, Felix didn't want to know, but he opened a new screen, selecting the next sponsor gift, and left the rest to Clove.

* * *

The illusions and projections had been unkind, horrid.

In a repetitive motion, a scene played of Cato viciously stomping on her wrist, a depraved laugh after the act. A laugh she knew he was entirely incapable of conjuring. Still, she'd pleaded shamelessly with him to cease. Didn't he know how valuable of an ally she was? How could he forget the countless times she'd bandaged his own wounds with those same hands? Was it possible he didn't care for her anymore?

More than a physical fixation, the damage was a sentimentally-driven form of torture.

As soon as she'd been given a single moment of clarity, she'd more or less inhaled the capsule that Felix had sent her. A gift to prevent anaphylactic shock in case she accidentally ingested any berried fruit. With Glimmer, Kailani, and Peeta well out of sight, their alliance had halved.

The brunette withdrew a small knife and removed her stingers with a hiss, clearing the dripping blood in the flowing water. With Marvel and Cato unconscious, Clove stripped and attempted to reclaim any semblance of hygiene.

After re-outfitting herself, she dragged herself closer to shore, peering over the bodies of her comrades. First, she removed Marvel's stingers. Though it appeared he'd only been stung twice, his skin had swelled wonderfully. Most likely, he was allergic to wasps, and by extension trackerjackers. What a terrifying situation to undergo.

She then pulled the softly-breathed blonde into her lap, carefully removing his stingers as well. The one under his eyes was especially difficult to maneuver. He winced at the motions, but didn't wake, only slackening into her hold. The vulnerability and openness in his body language was strange, alarming her, but she put the past behind them, and tried to ease his wounds.

"As soon as Marvel wakes up, I'll check the supplies. Hang in there," she murmured.

A single breath later, a parachute fell from the sky on to Cato's lap. Clove lifted herself up and plucked the gift from the blonde. She unwound it, removing a small jar from its shell. The jars' ingredients were too complex to understand, but it contained a pasty, white creme. Leaving it up to Felix, she took a dab on to her fingers.

Placing a dollop on her skin, she felt a tingle. She then placed creme on to one of her stings and let out a gasp of relief. Immediately, she covered herself in goop, before tending to Cato, who'd stirred slightly, and eventually even to Marvel, who'd crawled into a ball, ringing himself erratically. Clove knew extensively of the horrors Cato had survived, but watching Marvel's reaction, she wondered what traumas he'd overcome. She doubted he'd ever tell her, and something told her she didn't want to know.

* * *

He'd been thrown into a dark and musty space, but Cato would have recognized it in his sleep, with his eyes closed, even as an invalid. Relaxing, he withdrew a book from the mahogany shelf, dusting off the cover and reading the title. It vaguely drew his attention. He might have read the book at some point, but he couldn't remember anymore.

"What am I doing here?" he asked himself softly. The blonde felt ashamed, as his first reaction had been a hopeful stirring that he'd been removed from the games and locked into a safe house.

"Why do most people seek a novels' corner?" a familiar voice supplied him helpfully.

Cato swung to the right, unbelieving. His eyes widening in surprised bewilderment at the sight, "Mars?..."

His elder brother, not looking a day older than the last time he'd seen him, stood firmly before him. He picked through the bookshelf thoughtfully, "You've probably skimmed through every book in this place by now."

It'd been a half decade since then. He'd been a small boy of eleven, hardly taller than 5'2, and his brother had been eighteen. Cato swallowed, trying to bury his surfacing grief.

"It's okay to cry," his brother told him gently as he turned back to him.

Cato sniffed, rubbing his nose self-consciously, and refusing to oblige him. "You're not real. You died."

Mars gave him a pensive smile and pulled the taller boy into his arms. Cato struggled against him for a moment, quivering slightly. A bug of spontaneity bit the younger boy, and he leaned into Mars' shoulder, "We don't stop being brothers after one of us dies, Cato."

The younger boy blinked, the tears that had welled in his eyes wetting Mars' shirt. He clung to him, afraid he'd vanish with a moment's notice, and confessed, "I've fought for you."

"You don't have to," the dirty-blonde reassured him softly. "If I'm dead, you should be living for me, not dying for me."

"You've changed," Cato accused childishly.

Mars let out a chuckle, correcting, "What's changed are your memories. Mom and dad shifted them, made it seem like the only thing important was winning. You've always known the truth, Cato. Mercy is much more valuable. And despite what you may remember, I always loved you, always admired your spirit."

"Winning is important," Cato argued, breaking apart from the hold, "It's the only way to get your honor back, to take back what they'd stolen from you."

The elder brother ran a hand through his hair, "I think you should ask yourself if what they've stolen from me is worth what's been stolen from you to get you here in the first place."

Cato frowned, "Aren't you proud of me?"

Mars crossed his arms, "What sort of answer do you want?"

Such a cold response unnerved Cato. Distraught, he cried out, hitting Mars' chest in dual portions of hurt and protest, "I've done everything- everything for you!"

"But, what are you willing to do to win, Cato? Are you willing to sacrifice your pride, heart, even your dignity for the sake of dead man? I say let the dead stay dead. They have no right to occupy the minds of the living."

"Mars," Cato pleaded. This hadn't been what he'd expected when the apparition had appeared before him. He failed to hide his vulnerability, biting a shaky sob as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Cato, look at me."

His blue eyes locked on Mars' green, and his brother spoke again, this time kinder, "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect you." Mars' own eyes glimmered, "I would have loved so much to have watched you grow up. I'm sorry I failed you, but you're on your own now, kid. You're so much more than a mindless killer. You're smart, resourceful, and brave-"

"I don't understand what it is you want?" Cato admitted quietly, "Are you telling me not to play the game at all- to give up? Because, I won't do it. I won't!"

Mars brushed his tears away, resting a firm hand on his shoulder, "No, Cato. I want you to survive. In fact, I demand it."

His blue eyes gleamed with confusion at that, and he remarked unsteadily, "That-that was the plan."

"And when you win, you will become a catalyst for change," Mars told him, a strange light engulfing him, "You have to fight, Cato, and fight hard. Too many have lost their lives. Too many have fallen, and for what?"

"For honor," Cato whispered.

Mars' eyes darkened, "Do you believe that?"

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" Cato demanded, "You left me! You died. You say let the dead stay dead and yet, here you are!"

"And whose fault is it that I died?"

"Yours! It's your fault you died."

"Do you wish I'd died?"

"N-no," Cato replied, his stamina wavering.

Mars smiled at him, glowing transparently, "Then, make me one of the last. Do not allow anymore children to lose their brothers or sisters."

Win, Cato. Win, Cato. Win, Cato. Win... and _become a catalyst for change_!

* * *

Two days had passed since Glimmer and Kailani's deaths. On the second night, Marvel woke. He was shaken, but quickly assumed a brave face. When Clove had informed him of their losses, he'd seemed unimpressed, only sarcastically congratulating the remaining tributes on making it to the last ten.

As the sun rose over the 7th day in the arena, Clove briefly retreated to the cornucopia to leaf through their supplies. It was in doing so that she came across the male tribute from Three eying the supplies wantonly. Thrilled at the opportunity to up her count while Cato was out, she leaped to her feet and tackled the boy to the ground.

"Now, now, what were you doing?" she asked, a crazy delight lighting up her face.

"Nothing, I-i swear!" he replied, tears dusting his cheeks, "Please don't kill me. I can help, I can!"

Clove let out a hollow laugh, "I think we've got all the help we need." She grinned, slicing his cheek open. It'd been too long since she'd felt the rush, the adrenaline, and she'd make sure to give Cato shit about it when he woke up. How dare he deprive her.

"No, no, wait! I can protect your supplies," the ashen-skinned boy shout out.

The knife came closer to his cheek, "You protect the supplies? You're nothing more than a thief."

He struggled against her hold, a gutsy mistake to make. "I can replant the mines and surround your supplies. You'd be free to hunt, to go as far in the arena as you want. I could do that for you, really!"

Clove considered the idea for a moment. At first, she negated the offer, knowing no tribute would dare to steal from their amassed supplies. However, it didn't hurt to have insurance, and the image of a tribute exploding mid-air created too much anticipation for her to bear. She relented, moving her knees off of him, "Don't think for a minute that I'll hesitate to squash your pathetic life if you fuck this up."

"No, no. I'll do it right. Promise," the boy bowed, "Thank you, really."

"Stop that," Clove spat, annoyed, "It's pathetic. I'm not promising you'll live, just that you won't die quite yet."

Clove lead the way back towards the lake and the boy piped up, "I'm Datum."

"I don't care."

"You're Clove, right?" Datum inquired.

Annoyed with herself already, she grumbled, "Yes. Stop asking so many questions."

As soon as Marvel caught sight of him, he let out a whistle, "What, are we sharing this one for dinner?"

Keeping Datum alive was almost worth it just for the priceless reaction on his face. He begun hyperventilating, breathing erratically, and nearly suffocating from precious anxiety. "Not til he does his job," Clove said, failing to hide a smile. She threw a punch at the boy from Three. He saw stars, clutching to his cheek, "It was a damn joke. Do you outlines not have a sense of humor or something?"

"Sup, man? I'm Marvel."

Almost pouting, he turned away, abashed at the entire scene, "Datum."

"Data here is going to dig up all the mines and rebury them around our supplies. What do you think, Marvel?"

The curly-haired teen furrowed his brows, "Can you do it safely? If we try to get to the supplies, we're not going to blow up, are we?" He crossed his arms, "Let me rephrase that. If you at any time put us in danger, we'll pull a-" He paused, looking to Clove, "What's the name of that freaky victor from your district, the one who pulled out their victim's intestines and used it to choke another tribute?"

"Drey Holland."

"Yeah, we're going to pull a Drey Holland, and I can promise you, it won't be very fun."

Datum shook his head fervently, "I'll do it right, promise!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't piss yourself yet, squirt. How old are you, anyway?"

"Fourteen."

"Rough shit, kid," Marvel murmured, grabbing his jacket. "Come on, you can't do it all on your own. Let's get to work."

* * *

When Cato had awoken from his comatose late that evening, Clove had nearly barreled into his arms, but she resisted... barely. She'd needed to hear his voice, hear the petty retorts, just know her nightmares had been just that, nightmares. Marvel, Clove, and Cato were still worse for the wear. The creme had dulled the pain, but hadn't alleviated the venom, leaving them with nasty blisters.

The news that Cato been out for nearly three days was unwelcome by the blonde, and as soon as they'd eaten, he'd forced the trio to go hunting. The boy from Three was excluded and instructed to continue his work. Clove inevitably felt bad and threw the kid a bone in the form of night-vision goggles. He'd accepted them gratefully.

After several days of failing to find any hiding tributes, they'd finally come upon the boy from Ten. Cato had been about to ask how he'd survived an entire week of the games as a cripple when Clove had thrown a knife into the boy's thigh. Her follow up included stabbing Weston in the heart multiple times, relishing the sight of the slick liquid on her palms. Cato lost count after two dozen stabs and at his slightly green face, Clove glared, spouting that because of him, she'd been immobile for three days.

He became less reproachful then, realizing she must have nursed him back to health for several days.

A few hours later, they returned to the cornucopia as Datum reportedly put the last touches on his trap. When prompted by Cato to explain how it worked, the boy hopped along the path, demonstrating how to avoid the triggers. Clove was the first to brave the trap, replicating the set of moves, even pausing, and grabbing a pack of fruit leather from the top of the pyramid. She threw one to Marvel, smirking as she jumped away, and back to her companions.

"Good work," Marvel complimented offhandedly.

In the distance, a furl of smoke rose through the air. Whoever had created the fire, possibly the girl from Twelve, had made a crucial mistake. Cato looked at his companions, pointing to the smoke. An argument broke out after Cato demanded the boy from Three join them, "He's coming. We need him in the woods, and his job's done here anyways," Cato replied with a scowl. At Marvel's doubtful expression, he snapped, "No one can touch those supplies."

"What about Lover Boy?" Marvel quipped impatiently, again entirely over their fearless leader from Two.

"I keep telling you, forget about him. I know where I cut him. It's a miracle he hasn't bled to death yet. At any rate, he's in no shape to raid us."

Ignoring Marvel's glower of disapproval, he turned to Datum, "Come on." He then thrust a spear into Datum's shaking hands. As the four left the cornucopia towards the forest edge, he added lowly, "When we find her, I kill her in my own way and no one interferes."

Delving into the woods, Clove watched Cato wearily. He'd been particularly out of sorts since waking and she pondered to herself if he'd seen his mother in his uneasy rest. It set a morbid tone for their relationship. His greatest fear was his mother, and if her dream was anything to go by, him replicating his mother's nastiness was apparently her's. He worried her, and she hoped he knew that despite the environment they'd been placed in, that she was still his friend, his love, his ally.

In three day's time, she'd come to accept her feelings for Cato. Voicing them, of course, was out of the question, but acting on them, as long as she was subtle, was fine.

They'd traveled for about twenty minutes in absolute silence when an explosion shook the arena. "Holy shit," Marvel groaned, picking himself up from the ground, before letting out another string of expletives. The group raced back to the scene to find their entire supply in shambles. Clove held her breath.

She should have seen it coming, but she couldn't help but to be taken aback by Cato's response. She didn't know whether to blame the steroids or to blame him. Maybe, both? Clove wanted to believe he'd never be this callous on his own, she was callous enough for the both of them, after all, but she wasn't entirely sure anymore. His mood had been on a steady decline since his waking hours and she wondered if this would begin his descent into insanity.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED!?" He screamed, tearing painfully at his blonde locks. Marvel, in total astonishment, said nothing. None of them said anything, scared to be the trigger that set off the bomb...figuratively speaking. He began beating the ground like a fierce, furious primate, and if hadn't been so terrifying, it'd have been downright embarrassing.

Datum tried to keep his calm, picking up a small pinch of stones, and throwing them at the pyramid to ensure his companions' safety. Confirmation of the detonated bombs only set off Cato more. The blonde stormed over to the smoldering pyramid, kicking wildly at its contents.

_What will we do now?_ All their medicine, their shelter, food, all of it... gone. He'd been deprived of each at some point in his life, but never all at once. This was a game changer. The boy from Three had ruined it... ruined everything without his permission. All he saw was red; The blood he'd bathed in, the 72 hour solitary confinement, his mother crawling up his skin. He'd been betrayed by too, too many people.

He was the fucking pack leader! He was the one to sign off on all decisions, to develop each plan of attack, to keep everything organized. He'd been trained, coached, and designed to do this. Marvel and Clove hadn't. In his absence, they had destroyed everything. Incompetent. They were totally and utterly incompetent. It was unacceptable, and they'd soon pay.

Suddenly, he felt a trifecta of hatred, envy, and disgust. Clove! She'd ruined everything. If she hadn't been here, none of this would have ever happened. If he'd never befriended her... She had always gotten everything she wanted. Had eaten three square meals each day, and had been loved by both her mother, father, and even her sister, who unlike his deserving brother was still fucking alive. In training, she'd been instantaneously revered, respected, and feared despite her less than intimidating stature. The spoiled harlot had never had to work as hard as he did, had never had to overcome the odds as he had. She'd gotten everything she wanted, from Dicey in bed, to Felix's admiration, to even Nero's vote of confidence. She'd stolen his friends, and then had the nerve to steal him too. She'd gotten everything she'd ever wanted, including him!

That was a problem to deal with later, however. Now... The rat from Three. This was his fault, had probably been his plan the entire course through. Yes... He'd probably laughed at them as he'd set up the scheme. Had probably waved excitedly to the camera, mocking, taunting 'the stupid careers.' Had probably waited for the opportunity.

"You! You did this on purpose! Big fucking mistake. You're mine now, kid."

Datum turned and ran, but the blonde was too fast. Cato caught him in a headlock from the side, turning his head to the side. The body slumped to the floor.

"Man, relax, relax."

_SHUT UP, DICEY! _He narrowed in on Dicey, giving him a malicious grin at the nervous expression covering his face. "You want to play, then? Let's play. I dare you to defy me."

"Cato, stop! Cato!" Clove pushed him away from his target, and pointed to the sky, "Whoever it is is probably dead. We just have to wait."

"What do you know?" He growled ferociously as he picked her up by the neck, "You messed up everything! This is your fault, yours!"

His district partner's face reddened as she struggled to breath. Tears spilled down her cheeks, she slackened in his grip, and began to lose consciousness.

_Next time, Crazy Clovey gets to save me! _

He finally remembered why he hadn't wanted her to scale that tree.

It must have been nearly a decade ago. They'd trained together, and he'd pushed her too hard, had been a touch too harsh, and she'd scaled that climbing wall, trapping herself in the rope work. He'd been so terrified, worried she'd fall and break her neck, and that'd have been the short end of 7-year-old Clove Holloway... but he'd caught her, and held her close.

He'd vowed to protect her. Not to sacrifice himself, no, but to cherish her liveliness and honor her indomitable spirit. Cato dropped her to the ground. Maybe Clove was right. His promises really didn't mean much.

The image of Dicey evaporated before his very eyes, replaced by Marvel. No, that wasn't right. Dicey had never been there... it'd been a trick. The whole arena was a trick. They were trying to unwind him, to loosen all his screws, but he was still alive. They wouldn't win. He didn't care what it'd cost. He'd win. HE'D WIN. They'd pay, pay for what they'd taken from him...

Following his episode, both Marvel and Clove avoided him, communicating softly with one another. It'd stung, just a bit. He'd never liked being left out, being alone, and abandoned in plain sight. When the sky lit with the dead tributes, they snarled in disbelief. How had the thief survived? Had they been watching them? for how long? It didn't make sense, but no matter. They'd find them soon enough, and they'd pay.

Marvel lit a branch, using it as a makeshift torch. Both he and Clove wore night goggles as they entered the path into the woods.  
Countless hours passed and solemness fell over the trio. Finally, they disagreed about which direction to travel next, and split among themselves. Marvel traveled center-west, Clove southwest, and Cato around the barriers and line of the forest.

Several more hours passed into the next day, and two cannons shot into the sky. Clove's heart clenched slightly, wondering how Cato had ended the last of their opponents. There were now six tributes remaining and soon enough, it would be one against the other. After deciding to return to the base, she passed a mass of prepared green wood work.

It was then she saw the girl from Twelve, mourning over the youngest tribute, the pathetic, swinging creature from Eleven. They'd caught glimpses of her before, leaving her as a cornerstone piece for the grand finale. Further away, Marvel laid, a gaping, bloody hole in his neck. She'd have laughed at the irony - Cato had always wanted to strangle him for his comments - if it didn't only reinforce how close the games were getting.

Kailani, who'd only procured a single kill and avoided Marvel like a medieval plague, was ironically the one who'd set up the nets throughout the arena. As Marvel had said on their first day of training, the girl was a trap master. Clove stood for another minute, trying to decide whether to go after the girl from Twelve or not. With a silent bit of cursing to herself, she decided against it. _Guess who gets to live another day, bitch on fire. _

Cato was all she had, and by natural extension, the alliance was all she had. She would make no effort to dissolve it, to burn their ties, and begin the final countdown prematurely. It would be done properly, specially.

She returned to camp exhausted. Cato had cooled extensively, but he remained manic and paranoid. He'd given the closest thing to his version of an apology, offering her fish he'd speared while searching for whomever had irreparably damaged their supplies. She flew into the tent that had once been occupied by Glimmer and Kailani and fell into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

Cato watched the stars with a sense of mourning. The arena wasn't real. None of the ties, the moments, the experiences were real. It seemed strange to him that in this simulated environment Glimmer hadn't won. They'd all become actors. From their very first moments of involvement, at the Reaping, the Capitol had painted them as villains. _It was no accident they'd omitted Nelle's crying from Clove's reaping, _he thought.

She'd asked him a favor. Mars had asked him one too. Unfortunately, the promises were mutually exclusive. Mars had emphasized quick mercy. Magnilda had emphasized affectionate, tender last moments. _In her last moments, Cato, just... please, show her how much you care for her, because I know you do, and she's always cared... cared so much for you. _

To honor as many wishes as he could, he swallowed, gathering nerve. Tactfully, he snuck into Clove's tent, holding Glimmer's old knife. He watched her slumbering form, terror coursing through his veins. He forced his eyes shut, ready to bring the knife upon Clove-

A strong hold grabbed his wrist, snarling, "I should have left your ass to burn, you fucking snake."

Cato winced, opening his eyes. Clove withdrew from the tent, startled, but not at all surprised. _Fuck. _

"You said to make it painless!" he sputtered, caught red-handed.

"At the end, you cheating asshole! I can't fight back in my sleep." Clove scowled, "What happened 'until the very end?' You know what, I don't care. fuck you, Cato."

She laced her shoes, then grabbed her canister and sack. "You're a dirty coward! I hope you're eaten alive by wild bears."

"Clove, wait!" As she disappeared from sight, he closed his eyes, dabbing away tears, hoping the cameras were focused on someone else, anyone else. Thresh, maybe. "Please don't leave me."

With a heavy heart, he fell to the floor, throwing rocks at the detonated mines, and trying to prevent years and years of oppressed anxiety from overwhelming him at once. Alone. _He was all alone._

* * *

"Dicey, stop crying. Dice-"

The redhead wiped his tears, "This is torture. It's the worst thing I've ever seen." In Nero's eyes, he looked like the spoiled brat from childhood, and less like the 'man of the Wilder household.'

Nero sighed, "It's the Hunger Games. We watch them every year."

"I feel like I've aged two decades in two weeks. Why is this happening?"

"What did you expect? As soon as she was reaped, we knew this would happen."

His amber eyes glimmered with hatred, "I expected a better ending... this feels like the world is falling apart. An earthquake, avalanche, and tsunami, and I'm buried under a boulder."

Returning with a glass of water, Nero looked to Dicey, "Let's play statistical conclusion'"

"I fucking hate statistical conclusion," Dicey moped, sweeping his bangs to the side.

Nero arched his brows, "There's six tributes left, Dice. Predict the order of death."

Dicey exhaled, frowning, "Boy from Twelve - Girl from Five - Girl from Twelve - Boy from Eleven - Clove - Cato."

"2nd place's not bad," Nero offered.

"When was the last time Clove came in 2nd for anything?" Dicey shot hotly, then added, "And I think you're forgetting that 2nd place still results in her death. You're too damn accepting, and it's pretty fucking telling."

"I'm honest."

"Honest when it's convenient, maybe. You let us treat Clove like shit for years, didn't tell us that Felix had been homeless for periods of a time, and on top of that, had a secret girlfriend followed by a secret engagement."

Unappreciative of the statements, he gently prodded, "Feel better yet?"

The redheaded tried to clear his eyes, "Cato's birthday is in ten days, you know that?"

"Course I know that. You're not his only friend, Dice."

Dicey pulled his knees to his chest, "How long's Clove been gone?"

Nero watched the screen, furrowing his brows at the timer, "She left the cornucopia about 1AM. So roughly eighteen hours."

"With no sleep."

"Probably not the best strategy," Nero agreed.

"4 tributes died in the 36 hour window between Cato's awakening and Katpisses' discovery. D'you think the rest will go as fast?"

"Anything's possible."

Clove lifted herself into a tree, leaning back, and sighing. "At least you got the vantage shot, Clo," Dicey told the girl on-screen apologetically.

The screen transitioned between the tributes, before going to commercial. When it returned, the screen divided into a six-way split-screen.

"Wonder what they're doing," Nero remarked to himself.

Dicey rolled his eyes, "Anything to get attention."

Katniss was furthest left on the screen, followed by Thresh. Cato was in the third section, resting near a burning fire, his eyes sunken in, and his expression bleak. The redhead from Five was foraging, followed by the muddy Mellark. Clove was furthest right, finally at rest in the tree.

The trumpets played, and for a moment both boys thought the game makers would announce the feast, a battle royale to the death. Dicey placed his head in his knees, refusing to acknowledge the screen.

Nero watched warily as Cato's attention was barely fostered by the noise, and Clove's not at all in her blissful sleep.

Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed over the tributes as he announced a rule change. "Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive."

"That's not funny," Dicey complained lethargically, musing to himself. The announcer repeated himself once more, and Nero had to shake him out his stupor, "What? Whaaat?" he complained.

"They can both win. Dicey, they can both win!" Nero cried out, his eyes rimmed an unpleasant red.

The redhead blinked, looking to Nero in confusion, then back at the television. In a desperate synchrony, both yelled at the screen, "RUN!"

Cato looked up to the sky, confused. And, almost as if he could hear his friends cheers, tore through the forest without a moment to spare.

* * *

**AN** - Anla'shok, I agree about preferring the pre-games chapters. My writing was sloppy, definitely, but I had so much more flexibility. The games have a pretty rigid structure/outline and breaking them breaks canon, which isn't my intention until the AU ending.

This story has a lot of complex elements that often make it a tough piece to write, and yet I still regularly update two to three times every week. This chapter was over 6000 words, which is 2-3x larger than the average chapter for this story.

Because of this, I'm going to set a minimum threshold of reviews until I post the next chapter. It won't be an unattainably high number and I'm not trying to be a stick in the mud, but I'd appreciate developing a steady flow of communication with my readers, because chapter insights show that there are a surprisingly large number of you. Anyone can review, you don't need to be a site member, and the box is embedded right below the chapter's end. **It's only polite. Please review.**


	45. The Zest In Life

I could tell you his favorite colors green  
He loves to argue, born on the seventeenth  
His sister's beautiful, he has his father's eyes  
And if you ask me if I love him, I'd lie.

- Taylor Swift (I'd Lie)

* * *

**[A Selection of Scenes Unexplored II] **

August 64  
_Clove is 6. Cato is 7._

Trust is a hard thing to earn. Sometimes, one goes about it with a small gesture; a smile, handshake, an open mind. Other times, it's an act of kindness in an unexpected moment that begins the unfurling. The crux of the virtue isn't so much in the incidents themselves, but the person whose trust you are trying to earn. It is their values, dictations, and experiences that will either foster a stirring of something to come, or crucify the dying ashes of a wonderful bond.

Blonde, blue-eyed, dimpled, inquisitive, even docile - In any other setting, he'd have been a prized child. In District Two, he was small, and preferred to keep to himself. He spoke to no one and no one spoke to him.

His mother and father had always instructed him to trust no one, but Cato wasn't sure. They said trust no one, but they themselves weren't very trustworthy, so if he didn't trust his parents and they said not trust others, he'd trust everyone but his parents.

That made sense, right?

It'd been a long day. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and caught his breath. The young boy heard a knock on the lockers behind him and swiftly turned. The little girl he'd met a few weeks prior was standing there with a shy sort of expression on her face. She hadn't looked like that the last time he'd spoken to her. Above her eyebrow was a crusty, red wound. Cato contemplated advising her to have it checked when she piped up.

"Hi," she said with a short wave, her figure still hidden behind the lockers.

"What are you doin' here?" His eyes darted to the grey placard. _Boys Locker Room. _

Clove came forward, dropping her heavy messenger bag onto the bench, and shuffled through it, removing an over sized bag of trail mix. It was topped with a messy teal bow. She turned away, handing it to him, "I made this one all on my own."_  
_

_Another bag? _He hadn't even expected the first one.

He bit his lip to stop a flash flood, "Really? Thanks, Clovey."

"No one's ever called me that before," she told him, popping her lips in contemplation, as if trying to discern his motives. He gave her the briefest of smiles and she watched him carefully. His eyes fixated upon her figure, the bluest of blue observing her.

He was the prettiest boy she'd ever seen.

"Then it'll just be between me and you," he told her.

She sat on the bench, crossing her legs Indian style, "No one gives me nicknames."

Cato snatched her hand in his, but she pulled back. He huffed at her, grabbing the hand once again, and closed his eyes. After counting aloud to three, he announced to her, "We just made a blood oath."

"We did? But, I didn't see any blood..." Clove challenged, uncomfortably.

"It's in your veins, duh!" He scoffed, then added, "My brother says blood oaths can't be broken because they're based on honor."

"But what was our oath?"

Cato turned his head to the side, mulling it over. He hadn't really had anything specific in mind. He'd just been waiting for the chance and Clove had been the first opportunity to present itself to him. The blonde rested his index finger to his the edge of his mouth, "That I'm the only who gets to call you Clovey, and a bunch of other stuff."

"Like what other stuff?" she demanded, not a subtle bone in her panicked body. Clove rubbed her hand, looking for any tangible, visible differences in the atmosphere, but found none.

The blonde clamped his mouth shut, fast to change the subject, "Do you have a brother?"

"I have a cousin."

"Does he talk about honor?"

Clove shook her head, "He talks about books. A couple days go', he said... um- if you're not a master reader by third grade, then teachers stab your eyes out."

A look of pure horror struck Cato, "but I like my eyes!"

_So do I, _she mused to herself. Clove gave him a non-committal shrug, "I'm not taking any chances at all. Walking around with no eyes sounds like hard work. What if you fall into a hole and can never get out? How boring!"

He shuddered, redirecting, "I don't have any cousins... Well, I did once, but she died before she was born."

"You can have mine," Clove said, complaining mostly to herself. The brunette slung her blue messenger bag back onto her shoulder and gave him a patronizing grin, "I saw your last combat display."

Defensively, he gulped, "That wasn't a fair fight."

In the background, he heard the door open. Suddenly, a low voice demanded, "Why is there a girl in the boys room? LUCA! Some loser first year is going through all of our stuff!"

It took Clove a moment to realize the boy was talking about her, "No, I wasn't. I was leaving, and-"

"Stealing is punishable by death!" the tanned boy barked at her. Cato swallowed, edging away from the pair. This kid, the oldest in his cohort, wasn't exactly the most cordial. Normally, he was less tonally aggressive and more verbally so, but either way, Cato tried not to cross him. He was a third grader, too, which made him one of the biggest in the bunch.

"I said I was going. Are you stupid and deaf?" Clove snapped, her cheeks puffed out irritably, "Dumb hoodlum."

With utter dismay, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, before being replace with outrage, "What did you just call me?"

"Hoodlum, hoodlum, hoodlum!" she screamed.

A cool smirk appeared, "What's your name, Princess?"

She turned away from him until he forcefully pulled her closer to him, commanding her attention. Clove pushed him off of her, "It's Clove and I am not a princess! I'm a fighter."

"Yeah, right," he challenged, disbelievingly. Clove spit in his face. Almost instantly, his face flashed with rage, and he thrust his fist at her. Blood gushed down her lips and dribbled onto her chin. The girl was so shocked by what had happened, that she didn't realize just how much had begun flowing, ruining her baby blue tank top in the process.

His assault was the strike that broke the dam. She began cowering, covering her face with her hands, as fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

The boy grumbled, lamenting, "Some fighter you are..." his eyes trailed to the red button on her shirt, which he read through grit teeth, "Holloway."

Cato continued to look away, unable to watch the mess of a girl on the floor.

"Hey!" a voice called out, "Luca sent me. You're in Class A, right?" A brown-haired boy came into sight, taking account of the image before him, "How'd she get in here?"

"Who knows," her attacker spat.

"Luca said your 'sessment cards are ready. You better pick em up before he leaves for his archery group session. I'll deal with her," he pointed to the bloodied mess of a girl on the ground. Both boys left - Cato much quicker than the other boy - leaving Clove and the blue-eyed messenger to themselves.

Clove looked up, removing her hands from her head slowly and crossed them sullenly, "Go away, Nero."

"Do you want my help or not?" He snapped. The small brunette didn't say anything and Nero added angrily, "Felix Grey is the best kid in my entire group, Clove! Why were you trying to make him mad? You gotta know what fights to pick or bad stuff might happen."

"He started it!"

"Then you should have ended it!" Nero retorted.

Nero stole Clove's bag from her shoulder, rummaging through it for bandages and supplies. The boy wiped off most of the fresh blood off her face with a dry paper napkin. She winced at his movements, but he had no sympathy.

With a stronger dab of hydrogen peroxide than probably necessary, Nero roughly rubbed at the crust of the cut above her eyebrow, "I can't believe you haven't cleaned that out yet. What if it got infected, dummy?"

She stuck out her tongue, "Then daddy would realize how far you will go to steal him from me."

"I am not trying to steal Uncle Balthazar!" He shot, his temper flaring at the accusation.

"Are too," she quipped, a little softer.

"Why can't you just share him?" Nero asked, a plead underlying his question. The 7-year-old's voice held a slight rasp as he wiped at his eyes, tears wetting the back of his hand.

"I already have to share him with Magnie," Clove pouted, grudgingly less angry than the last time he'd seen her, "And you have Auntie Ebony to yourself."

The brown-haired boy continued to clean the cut he'd inflicted on her the last time they'd tried to have this conversation, "I never got to meet my daddy. All I have from him is a stupid necklace..." Nero bit his lip, his eyes filling with christening tears.

"I thought you liked the necklace. You never ever take it off."

He took a swig of Clove's water, not bothering to ask for permission, "It's not the same, okay? I want a daddy to teach me things and look at my 'sessment card and laugh at my funny stories and-"

"But you're not funny."

Nero laughed a little at that, admitting that much to himself was probably true, and drying his tears. "But I'm strong. At least a little, cuz' no one can break my headlocks."

"Not even that mean kid."

"You saw that?" Nero asked, rubbing the back of his neck and looking dually abashed and proud of his accomplishment.

Clove nodded faintly, then added, "You look like him."

"Like my dad?" Nero asked her, "Mom says that a lot to me before bed. That I look like him and have his smile and-"

"Like my dad," Clove corrected, saddened by Nero's misfortune, "I saw this picture from when he was a Level III and I thought it was you. Same weight and tallness and hair color too, but the eyes are different."

Nero placed a bandage over her head wound, listening, and told her, "You're the only one with Holloway eyes." He smiled slightly, happy with the fruits of his labor. He'd learned a lot from watching his mother, "There. All better."

Clove lightly touched the bandage above her eye and looked up to him, her hazel eyes shining curiously, "Um...Nero, what's honor?"

The question felt loaded, tricky, "Being good for mom, I think, and protecting her. No lying or cheating. Being in the Hunger Games, that's gotta have like sixty-six points of honor, right?"

"Even if you lose?" Clove asked, with wide eyes.

He swallowed, "I...I hope so. My daddy had to have honor, because he was brave and strong and that's what it means to be a man."

Clove thought to herself, "Girls need honor too, Nero. Girls too, girls too." She clenched onto the hem of his shirt, pulling on it desperately.

"Okay, okay, let me think," he wove his fingers together, perusing the thought, "For a girl, I think it means being smart, knowing about the world, and... never giving up? Yeah, that! Training's harder for girls. I've seen it lots, you know, but, but, if you don't give up, it has to get better ventually' right?"

"I guess that makes sense," Clove said, feeling a bit overwhelmed.

Nero grinned suddenly, "And you get smarter by reading books. But don't worry, Clove, if you don't become a master reader soon, then a teacher will poke out your eyes and you'll never have to worry about the games because you won't see nuthin' anyways."

"Wait, what's so funny?" she demanded, pushing him. He only laughed harder, "You tricked me! You said no lying, Nero, that means no honor for you." She shook him, "No honor for you. No honor for you!"

His grin widened, "Yeah, well you fell for it, which doesn't make you very smart. So no honor for you either, Clove Holloway!" The brown-haired boy jumped on her, tickling the girl, the sound of their giggles ringing happily in his ears.

* * *

March 67_  
Cato and Clove are 9. _

It was a warm spring afternoon. Despite the March weather becoming increasingly more and more unpleasant, the residents of Two West had learned to make do. Some had been recovering from hay fever, while Clove had been recovering from her broken nose. Most of the children tried to take advantage of the weather and spray one another with neighborhood water hoses, while others ran in dense, green fields. Those who'd forgotten to wear slippers to collect the mail or answer the door had suffered burns to the soles of their feet.

Their few months of winter's reprieve were long over.

Heat, she could handle. The ever-changing mood swings of a young Cato, she could not. As his figure appeared in the distance, the small girl mentally dared the blonde to utter a single word about the condition of her nose. Cato stalked over to her and dauntingly mocked, "Don't say I never got you anything."

Clove scrunched up her face, grimacing at the pain following the unconscious action, "What-"

The blonde then ambushed her with a makeshift bouquet of flowers. She barely had the grace to ensnare the mix.

It was filled to the brim with daises, oleanders, birds of paradise, and even the orange blossoms that grew in yards overtaken by weeds. It was secured together by a black hair tie that weren't quite up to par hygienically speaking (in Clove's modest opinion), but that was the least of her problems, really.

"What are these for?" she asked suspiciously. How many times had he told her 'nothing in life is free'?

"Lyon Owens hurt your nose, and when people go to the hospital, you're spose' to get them a gift. It's manners, Clove." The way he made the remark seemed to imply that he thought her unfamiliar with the social concept.

This only led to a bigger frown. "I was in the hospital for like forty-five minutes and that was weeks ago. Sides, with your burns, which you still haven't told me where they came from, maybe the flowers are better off with you." Clove attempted to hand them back, but he only pushed them away.

"Don't be like that, Clovey. I picked them specially for you," he complained.

Clove gave him a strange expression, "Flowers are for girls."

"So?"

"So, they're for girls," Clove repeated.

"You're a-" he paused, coming forward. Cato stared at her lips for a moment and Clove became nervous, thinking he might do the unthinkable, when he exclaimed, "You don't have a mustache, and no Adam's apple, and-"

Clove flushed about six different shades of red, "Of course I don't!"

He smirked, "Then you're a girl, and those flowers are for you."

"Cato-" she whined.

"I was scared you had a penis," he admitted in a whisper.

"Gross, what are you talking about?" she asked him, horrified.

"I hope you enjoy the flowers, Clovey," Cato remarked. Heading off, his backpack bobbing along as he trailed away.

The brunette sighed, "Well, I guess if they're from you..." In the distance, she saw him rejoin his group of friends. Once he was out of sight, she crossed her arms, "Idiot," and proceeded to discard the scraggly bouquet into the nearest trash receptacle.

* * *

June 72  
_Cato and Clove are 14. Nelly is 10. _

"He likes you. He has to like you," Magnilda trilled, lovestruck, clasping her hands together at her sister's latest confession. The younger girl wrapped her arms around Clove's stomach, beaming.

Step one, friendship.  
Step two, unresolved sexual tension.  
Step three, a sexy kiss to break the tension.  
Step four, an unbreakable relationship.  
Step five, a fantastically romantic proposal

...and then her favorite step, step six, a dream wedding and a new brother!

Oh, she could hardly wait, but she would, because Clove could never know of the six step process. The unromantic beast would only ruin things, destroying years of carefully planted seeds.

Clove groaned, "No, no way. Blondie is way out of my league."

Magnilda looked at her sister as if she was deluded and mentally unfit, "Don't you mean you're out his league?"

"Uh, no. If I meant I was out of his league, I would have said so, but seeing as I didn't-"

"Clove, you're beautiful."

"I'm scruffy," she asserted.

"Right now, maybe," Magnilda agreed, probably a bit meanly, "But with a little bit of work... maybe if you brushed your hair-"

Clove's look of offense entertained the younger girl, and her only remark was a weak assertion, "I do brush my hair."

An expression of doubt crossed her face, "Really? Well, then, you poor thing thing... You'll be an old maiden."

"You're mean, and you're ten, and you don't know a thing about boys."

The younger girl watched her older sister with an annoyed expression, "I begin sixth grade in like six weeks. There's lots of boys in sixth grade, alright?"

"Yep, and every single one of them are stupid, so your point's not really worth anything."

"Plenty of boys like me," Magnilda defended, "I-"

Clove eyed the side table, "What are their names?"

"Well, one of them-" She looked up into Clove's anticipatory face, her sister using one of her favorite knives as a nail file. Magnilda only warned, "You can't kill my classmates, Loey. And anyways, I heard from Callan, who heard from Dicey, who heard from Nero, who heard it from the horse's mouth that Ellery Watson is Felix's candidacy partner."

Clove's eyes ignited with delight, "Really?"

"I thought you'd be upset. You hate Ellery."

"Who cares about that twit?" Clove waved her off, "Paxton Watson has been in love with Fix since like third grade and if he and Ellery win the tribute spots, Paxton will have to sit and watch as her sister and the love her life battle it to the death."

"What did she do to you again?" Magnilda asked, confused.

Clove arched her brows, "She said I had no friends."

"And?..."

"And what?" Clove asked, "She said I had no friends."

Magnilda's face contorted into dismay, "She said that in, like, 69."

"68," Clove corrected.

"Clove!" the younger girl admonished, "Has she said anything since?"

Clove shrugged, shaking her head no, "No. I think she's scared of me."

Magnilda blinked, dismayed, "Well, of course she is! You're still torturing her over something she said during my first year. I'm surprised she doesn't pee herself on-sight, especially with the way you like to play with your food."

"I thought we were talking about Cato," Clove huffed, trying an failing to hide her true colors as she squeezed a pillow to her chest.

Magnilda crossed her arms, a smug smirk on her face, "So, have you made it to second base yet?"

"Cato and I don't play baseball."

"Baseball? What are you talking about-"

Clove's expression of confusion only mirrored Magnilda's own, "Well what other games involve second base?"

Magnilda rolled her eyes and exaggerated, "Have you guys kissed yet?"

"What does that have to do with baseball?"

"Clove!"

"I already told you, he just... pet my head," Clove offered.

Magnilda's eyes narrowed, "Pet your head- What are you, a dog?" She scurried closer to Clove, patting her head, "Did he do it like this?"

"No, not exactly, more like..." she pulled Magnilda gruffly onto her lap, running her fingers through the younger girl's hair, "This, while we watched the games. Every night."

Magnilda burrowed closer to her, "Mmm, feels good, Lo." Clove continued her ministrations, gently combing her hands through the younger girl's hair, "He really did it in front of everyone?"

Clove blushed, "Cato and Dicey kept whispering. I think Dicey must have said something, because Cato pushed him off the couch and took all of it for us."

"I wish I had a romance written in the stars," Magnilda murmured, jealously, closing her eyes.

"Romance written in the stars? Shut up, that's not - that's-" Clove's cheeks reddened, "He's out of my league. He's beautiful and strong and-"

Magnilda swat her hand away, "What are you - a trophy girl? He might be handsome and tough, but he's still Cato. Get a grip, you sound like a lovesick freak. One time, this girl came up to me and cooed in my face, telling Cato that his 'little sister' was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. I refuse to let you become like her."

"Did you kick her in the face?"

A mischievous grin crossed Magnilda's face, "No, but I asked her whose mom she was."

The elder sister only tightened her lips as she said in amusement, "Your possessiveness might be a little unhealthy."

_Yeah, because he's my brother. Those dumb bitches can't have him, _Magnilda thought, coolly.

She smiled sweetly, cheerfully remarking, and rose her hands in a 'que sera, sera' motion, "I can't help that we're so close."

* * *

January 74  
_Clove is 15 and Cato is 16._

It was a brisk, chilly evening. Two West never cooled enough for snow, even a faint dust of powder, but even so, Clove would have done about anything for a roaring fire or a warm cup of echinacea tea. Her toes were frosty, her teeth chattering, and she'd begun shaking and shivering. She and Cato were wrapped in a duvet.

"And then, I nicked her again. You know, it must drive her crazy to think about how many of my works claim her body."

Cato humored Clove, slightly amused, "Dicey still has my gash across his back. Pretty such that makes him my permanent bitch."

She blanched, "Mark of a warrior, I tell you."

"As if," Cato denied, "He earned it for not being vigilant."

"I meant him putting up with you," Clove corrected the defensive boy with a smirk.

He returned her smirk, teasing her lightly, "And what about you?" Cato let out an erotic growl, "Your patience knows no bounds, babe." She laughed at his playful display, intertwining her fingers in his. Cato broke contact instantly, "Clove, you're freezing!"

The brunette nuzzled closer to him. "Warm me up, then, Beautiful," she told him.

Cato grinned at the challenge, removing his t-shirt and pulling her clothed form to his chest. Softly, he murmured, "You're beautiful."

She tried to rub the flush from her cheeks and sighed, stealing his warmth. Clove gently stroked his hair, gazing briefly into his eyes. Relaxing, she rested her head on his chest. The lull of his heart thumping and his even tempo soothing her. Quietly, she told him, "You're something special."

"Maybe," he said arrogantly. Cato then added seriously, "I've had a lot of help along the way, though."

The blonde waited for a moment.

"You're supposed to tell me not to sell myself short."

Clove chuckled, "How long have you known me, love?"

"Love?" he teased, cocking his head away, "I think you've been reading too much."

As the girl continued to comb her fingers through his light locks, she laughed, "Well, I've heard if you don't become a master reader by third grade, then the teachers stab out your eyes."

Out of all the responses she could have given, this was one he didn't expect. The blonde let out a boisterous laugh, his joy a callback to his younger days, "I can't believe we actually believed that. Who told you that one?"

Clove's amusement read clear in her eyes, "It must have been Nero."

He gave her a castigating glance, "You should have told us about him eons and eons ago."

"We figured it didn't matter."

Cato's caustic expression showed that he didn't believe her for even a second, "Why do you think the four of us protect Nelle and Hal and Cal?"

"Because you like Magnilda more than me," Clove said sharply.

"That's only actually true like 72% of the time," Cato admitted, raising his hands in faux defeat. He brought them down, wrapping them around her, and securing her into his grasp, "It's because we're a family, Clovey, and your family's family is your family too."

She leaned her head closer to him, getting more comfortable, "Cato, the family man."

Cato smirked, a sneaky expression, "That's why I actively ignore Halle's precocious crush on me. But, you know, if for some reason you ever grow tired of me, she's always a second gear."

"Ah yes, Cato Elroy, a god among men for the world supply of thirteen year old girls."

He gave her a sincere smile, which honestly was off-putting, "You know my favorite part of candidacy training?"

"Nope."

"Growing closer to you," Cato confessed, rubbing her back. He then added, "You're warmer now, Clovey."

She snorted. If that was his idea of a fast exit, then he had another thing coming. Clove contemplated calling him out, but decided in favor of giving the blonde the benefit of the doubt. "Mine too," she said with a faint smile. She moved up, grabbing his face, and gave him a kiss.

Fear trickled in. He could either withdraw or go for the kill. His anxiety ebbed, a strong compulsion filling him. She need to know how much he valued her, how glad he was to have her by his side. The two sat up, and he leaned in.

A kiss on the forehead for the trail mix. One kiss for all bags, or he'd have been there forever.  
A kiss on the cheek for trying to save him from his parents. They'd been eight, then.  
A kiss (especially tender) on the wrist for being his friend even after he broke her throwing wrist when he was eleven.  
A kiss on her collarbone for teaching him to throw knives just hours before his potential tribute exam. It was the first time her hold meant just a little more, held more significance than he thought possible.  
And another one for comforting him after his exam, and then weeks later when his brother died. After a several minutes, he lost count.

He might have been the more physically capable of the duo, but Clove was the strong one. He savored the closeness, "Somewhere, somehow, you're making an eleven year old boy very happy."

"Thinking out loud probably isn't the best of ideas when your sentences come out like _that_," she joked. Clove withdrew from his hold and Cato gave her a confused expression. She then extended her hands, prying at the buckle of his belt.

The blonde froze, snapping his eyes shut, and trying to sort through his discordant arrangement of thoughts. It was chaos, and terror struck him as he saw his mother's nasty and vindictive smirk. Cato opened his eyes, catching his breath, and apologized, "Let's go for a walk. Sound fun, Clovey?"

Her bitter dejection only salted his wounds. This could have been a beautiful moment, but his mother had wrecked it all. His heart sunk. Cato extended his hand and Clove took it warily, quipping, "Since when are you into displays of affection?"

Cato pulled his jacket on, and once they reached the base of the stairs, he admitted to her:

_Oh... yeah. _"Dicey knows."

"Cato!"

"What? It's not my fault!"

The small girl punched his chest, "I wanted to see the dopey expression on that idiot's face when he found out and now I never will. Way to go, Elroy." Clove tore away from Cato and he frowned, before she jumped onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

"Oof! Clove, you're too fat. Damn, babe, you're going to break my legs."

She scowled, "I'll have you know I'm 120 pounds of pure muscle."

He laughed, shaking them both, and smiled to himself, "Are you comfortable there, cutes?"

Clove wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "Yes. Now, I want the whole entire story."

"The whole story, huh?" he asked. The blonde holstered her up, "I'd go with you to the ends of the Earth."

"Then away we go, blondie!" Clove cheered as he slammed the door behind them, and they headed into the horizon, ready for whatever roads lied ahead.

* * *

**AN** - Originally, this was chapter 46, but I decided I'd rather load you with fun memories while Clove was still alive than to let you realize what I ruined after she'd already died. The first scene takes place between chapters 2 and 3. It also takes place before the first memory in chapter 14 (when Cato catches Clove after she falls). The second scene takes place between chapter 6 and 7. The third scene takes place between chapter 19 and 20. The last scene takes place between the first and second sections of chapter 23.

There will be both a canon and AU ending.

Thanks for the feedback last chapter, everyone. I appreciated it, and hope to keep hearing what you like, dislike, tips, questions, etc.  
If you check out my tumblr (lilacalyssahalliwell), you can see a post I made with how I visualize the boys + Nelly.

I'm kind of curious.** How old are my readers?** Submit a review with your comments and questions and let me know!


	46. The Lead Balloon

History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived,  
but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.

- Maya Angelou

* * *

**If you missed all the flashbacks of childhood!Cato and Clove**, you've skipped a chapter and need to read chapter 45 first.

* * *

Eight hours post-announcement, Cato fell to his knees. _I'm never going to find her, _he thought miserably, cupping his face with his hands. The tribute from Two had been wandering mindlessly for hours, and soon came to a desperate conclusion. He and the love of his life, the sun in his day, his shelter from a stormy night, were trapped in a co-dependent relationship.

Okay, so _he_ was trapped in a co-dependent relationship.

Clove didn't depend on anyone for anything. He'd have been lying if he didn't admit it made him slightly sick with envy.

He'd never figured himself the type for screaming sprouts, but the blonde figured with how protective he'd become of Clove in the past few weeks, that if that was how he treated someone more than capable of defending themself, then he could only imagine what it'd be like if they had a vulnerable tyke or two running around the house.

Cato was quite aware he was losing his mind.

_Sixteen and stupid, _a familiar voice chastised in the back of his head. The hopeless boy picked himself from the ground.

_You can't keep trying to kill me and then apologize every time you realize how dumb of an idea that it might be._

"Yeah, yeah, I know, Clove," he said in a mutter to himself. This search and rescue plan had become more of a philosophical search for sanity and a rescue from the turns of his twisted mind. If his tribute partner had been anyone but Clove, he would have left them to rot, but for her... for her... he'd go to the ends of the earth, and then a little further.

The gaps in his memory had become cleaner, shinier, and in their midst, had casually flung repressed memories to the surface.

They were things that wouldn't normally matter - ignoring Dicey for several days after he stole his trail mix in first grade (and the subsequent pathetic-fest between the two), his brother introducing Ryden to him and explaining that even though he liked boys, he was still strong (Cato's snotty retort was '"well, duh"), his near slip-up in his practice interview with Malee ("Do you have any siblings?" "A younger sister - er, a baby brother.")

He wouldn't be surprised if both hated him.

Where in the world was Clove? She'd headed northwest and he'd gone just about as north and west as he could. For a moment, his stomach clenched. What if Thresh had gotten her? Bread boy, Girl from Twelve, Red - they didn't stand a chance against someone like Clove. Thresh, however (and he'd been careful not to speak as much aloud), had size in his favor.

_No, Clove is not dead yet._

He then amended, _and she never will be. Because we're going home together, and I'll- _

A parachute fell into his arms. He unwound the capsule to find two ripe, tempting blackberries. Cato looked to the sky, complaining, "Well, if she was around before, she's not anymore."

Was this Felix's idea of a joke? Wait -

"Thanks, I'll take note," he said more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Cato turned, and began heading in the opposite direction, glad for once to understand his friend's cryptic codes. Maybe if he had agreed to play along with Felix's three-year plan, he'd have understood so much more from the very beginning. Clove and Felix were birds of a feather, and though Felix was the bigger bastard (barely), the two played off of each other more than they really liked to acknowledge.

As he hiked through the forest, Cato wished he could appreciate the arena.

It was pleasantly cool, lush, and inviting. Summers in Two were dry, harsh, and often left its inhabitants an unhealthy shade of red if they stayed out too long. He'd never been in a place so green, open, and soothing. Sure, it was a false sense of security, but he didn't mind much. Anything else reminded him of Mars, even Felix, and though he'd never admit it (mostly for the latter), their games had been the most heart-pounding and insanity-driven games he'd ever watched.

Another hour passed, in which he forced himself to entertain happier thoughts and rest as a vaguely familiar voice admonished, _Do not over-exert yourself, if at all possible._

Cato sat for a few minutes, twiddling his thumbs, and trying to get a grip. Things were a lot harder without her than he'd thought. For a moment, he wondered if he'd have been able to kill her. It'd have been inevitable, after all. Which life did he value more - hers or his?

His. Definitely his. Maybe that's why the rule change was for Lover Boy and Fire Bitch, and not for him and Clove. The audience wanted District Twelve to win, to be a pair of star-crossed lovers, or something equally as stupid. _Good fucking luck with that, _he thought acerbically. He wondered briefly if the Capitol would have supported them if he and Clove had played a lovers angle. Probably not. Clove was about as romantic as dirt.

Though he was a sentimental fool, he'd kept their relationship strictly their own. Training, the Games, they'd taken everything from him - Mars, basic sustenance, the chance at a normal life - but it wouldn't take the only thing it'd given him in return, Clove, too.

In the distance, the sun rose overhead, warming the arena and reminding him to remain vigilant. Lover Boy was on his way out, but there was still Thresh, Red, and Everdeen - and a single moment of weakness was all it'd take to become a victim.

As if to prove itself true, a small rock came hurtling down, hitting him square in the neck. He let out a small yelp, probably not the bravest noise, and turned, seeking his challenger. Hidden in the trees, one suspect came to mind, and Cato's grip on his spear tightened. _Who's performing dismally in long-range weaponry now, mom? _

A second voice chastised him, _Don't be so blatant in your disregard. _

"Can the cavalry shut the fuck up, already?" he grumbled to himself.

"I can only imagine how fascinating a conversation between you, yourself, and you must be," a voice taunted.

Cato knew he should be angry, irritated, annoyed. Instead, he was everything but. He was... elated? Cato spun around towards the voice, only to find that he couldn't see who he already knew it belonged to. Another rock flew down, hitting him in the forehead. She giggled nastily, pleased with herself, as he rubbed his forehead.

It wasn't a knife, though, and that was a start.

"Now that you've had your fun, can you come down?" He asked, feigning the smallest inkling of patience.

He couldn't see her face, her reaction, to see how she was processing their reunion. Only seconds later, she laughed again, "And make it easier for you to kill me? Not a chance, blondie."

Pejorative nicknames were her thing. A mechanism to keep people at an arm's length. Felix was a hoodlum, but he's also Fix. Dicey was her 'redhead in trouble.' Nero was Sticks, and she always sung that melody, slightly off-key: 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.' A ballad that didn't make sense, but neither did she.

"Clove, we've got things to do. Hurry up!" he ordered, past annoyed, and closer to frustrated. Cato tried to bury the small part of him that was gravely disappointed by her disheartening reaction. What did he really expect? Only a mere hour ago, he'd been thinking of kids, comparing her to the sun, and their love to protective shelter. Was he crazy?

Again, he reminded himself, Clove was as romantic as dirt. Maybe absence really did make the heart grow fonder, or whatever bullshit Nero had said about his stupid girlfriend.

Seconds later, another thought came to mind. Clove could climb. She could climb! Why had he ever thought otherwise? They could have ended this game days ago, but he'd been stupid, dumb as balls. "The only way you're getting me down is with a spear through the heart," she mocked, giggling to herself hysterically. Clove had officially lost it, he figured, but they couldn't really afford that much right now.

Exhausted, irritated, and really ticked off, he slammed his fist against the tree. It shook slightly, and Clove wrapped her arms around the base of the tree, shooting him a glare.

"Dammit!" he cursed, wincing at his bleeding knuckles.

"I could end all your frustrations," Clove offered in sweet voice, taunting him. She glided a finger over the blade of her knife and gave him a dangerous smirk. Anger boiled within his chest. She knew better than to fucking use that tone with him. He was not one of her little play things, not a victim in her mind games.

"Cut it out, Clove! I'm done with all of this, and I'm ready to go home," he snarled up at her, looking more himself, or at least, the 'himself' the audience knew.

"What's stopping you?" she snorted, not looking too keen on helping him in that regard.

"Don't you want to go home with me?" he inquired softly, almost pathetically sad. Clove stared at him, both bewildered and a bit gloomy, "Don't you want to get out of here and create something better?"

"Of course I do, but it can never happen! You made that clear when you tried to kill me. Only one of us can go home, and I-i." She turned away from him, and he wondered to himself what she was looking at. For several seconds, she seemed so far away from it all, but she turned back to him with a stronger resolve.

He didn't understand. "Aren't you happy about the new rule? I've been looking for you for hours. Don't tell me you've been here the whole time."

Clove didn't say anything for a moment, then asked, "What new rule?"

Cato looked up, dumbfounded. He paused as if trying to read her expression, "You're not serious, are you?" The rule hadn't been announced THAT late last night. She was playing with him like how she toyed with all her kills, but... "Two tributes from the same district can be victors. You know, the only rule change that's been made since we got here."

Her eyes widened, and he waited for her to drop down from the tree and jump into his arms, but she only scoffed, "What, do I look stupid?"

_You've got to be kidding me, _he groaned to himself. "Why would I make that up?"

"Because you're a sniveling coward."

Romantic as dirt, you know?

The blonde sighed, trying to hide his desperation, "I'm not lying!"

"You promised to leave us to the final two, and then instead of duking it out, you tried to kill me in my sleep. You're a certified born-liar, Cato!"

Kicking the tree, he huffed.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I broke your wrist. I'm sorry I threatened to kill your family. I'm sorry I didn't defend you against the rat bastard the first time, and the second time, and fifty-ninth time. I'm sorry I broke our promise to stick together no matter what, and I'm sorry I broke it so fast! I'm sorry I hurt you after Mars died. I'm sorry for being a shitty friend, and for being constantly indebted to you. I'm sorry for making fun of you after our first kiss, and being a clingy wuss during our not-relationship. I'm sorry for being a piece of shit and breaking your heart after you confessed your feelings-"

"You did not break my heart," Clove quipped, aghast.

"Shut up, I'm not done yet!" Cato snapped, kicking the tree again, "I'm sorry about the first night on the train, and I'm sorry for everything bad that happened afterwards. I'm sorry for freaking out about the supplies and hurting you, I'm sorry for trying to kill you, too, but you know what, Clove? I'm not sorry we're here, not at all, because it's just another obstacle we'll overcome together. It's always been me and you, and the thought of that changing scares the shit out of me. So I guess I'm sorry for being a coward too."

Clove was about to say something when a parachute fell from the sky, again in Cato's grasp. He opened it, unsure whether to laugh or cry as he held up a translucent bag, tied with a teal bow, and remarked with a broken laugh, "I have trail mix."

Warily, she descended the tree, stowing away her knife, and snatching the bag. "About time," she shot hotly, removing the ribbon and stuffing a handful into her mouth, "That's Cato - 1, Clove - 500. You've got a lot of bags to go before we're even, small fry."

The implications that there'd be an opportunity for him to pay her back sunk in.

"I missed you, you know," he informed her, quickly on her tail.

She turned to him, staring daggers, "You're not forgiven yet." His face fell, and she snapped, "Pull yourself together. There's barely a scratch on you and you're looking at me like I just sent you to your death bed."

"I just spent God knows how many hours looking for you, Clove."

"If I'd known better, you'd have spent double that," Clove spat, unsympathetically.

Apparently, Clove knew exactly where they were, because within the hour, they were directly back at camp.

Along the way, his thoughts cleared up a bit, and as he followed her, he thought of when he'd first acknowledged his feelings for her. Throughout their friendship, there had been several crucial moments, some more poignant than others, but maybe it was the fact that Clove always had his best interest in mind no matter the state of their relationship that grasped at him most.

Her personality, which was lukewarm on the best of days, didn't matter much to him. It was all a ruse anyways. She might not get romance right, but she certainly understood the underlying, most basic principle, which was love.

Cato had been eleven when he'd realized she was more than just a friend, super-hero, sarcastic wit. He'd been nervous, shaky even, and she'd been Clove, snappy, short-tempered, and brash, but then she'd clung to him after the briefest tenure of success, and held his hand, and he'd discovered that he'd apparently become quite attached to the small creature.

At the time, it'd been a fluke. He'd thought it'd go away, but then Clove had stormed up to him, demanding to know why he'd been such a fair-weather friend to Dicey, and had again held him. This tiny wreck - his tiny wreck - was perfection, enclosed in a small, bitter, exasperated, and amusing package.

Right now, she was wrapped in a very tightly-sealed package.

They sat at camp, not speaking for several minutes, mostly taking inventory of what they had, which included Cato's sword, a spear left behind from Datum, their tents, and a small selection of items in the backpacks, such as fruit leather, a pot, matches, and their water canisters.

After finishing their account, Clove handed him the bag of trail mix, "Eat up, Elroy."

Cato wanted to say no, to be selfless, but he accepted the bag. Apparently, not only was he a coward, he was weak too. Great, just another attribute for his resume. Clove stared at him, making him uneasy, when she suddenly (or maybe not so suddenly) slapped him across the face.

He deserved that. That, he was aware, but it didn't ebb the pain much, "Hey!" he quipped defensively, "Just because you look small doesn't mean your slaps don't stick."

"Listen, and listen good, Cato, because I have a lot to say and you have an awfully big mouth. You know, I bet the audience probably thinks I'm a shrew, that I'm being cold for not forgiving you right from the start, but here's a little replay of where we're at.

For the first few days of the Games, everything was fine - Obnoxious, but fine. On the fourth or fifth day, who can fucking remember anymore, we were all stung and I sat on the lake shore for three days tending to your wounds, scared to death your stupid ass was never going to wake up again. And what happened when you did? You dragged us out hunting, intimidated our ally, and then nearly strangled me after one of the other tributes finally got smart enough to actually fight back. It's the damn Hunger Games, did you really expect them to be that easy?

You had an entire fucking day to clear your head, to get your shit together, and I came back to camp thinking you were back to normal. Then, I wake up in the middle of the night to find the boy who I thought loved me, the boy who'd become my first friend, standing over me with a knife. I had to flee camp, travel for hours just to get away from you, and when I finally found you, you're standing there like some sad little puppy who expected to be fed and coddled, except I really have no motive to feed or coddle you, Cato. Not a single reason why I should care about you sad little feelings.

So even though I love you-"

"You love me?" he interrupted, his heart pounding.

Clove glared, "Even though I do, I still think you're a piece of shit and this guilt trip nonsense needs to fucking stop."

Cato sat quietly, "So what do I do?"

"Well, there's one thing you can do."

"Anything!" he agreed quickly.

She rolled her eyes, "Don't sign the contract without reading it, blondie."

"Just name your price, Clove-" he shot back, annoyed.

Clove smirked, "I want Everdeen."

"What? NO! She's mine, I already claimed her."

"That's my price."

"That's not fair," he challenged.

"It's the least you can do after putting me through the wringer for the last few days."

"You put me through the wringer through our entire relationship."

"I want Everdeen."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Not a chance!"

"I hate you."

"Well, I hate you more!"

"It's her or me, Cato, take your pick-" and right as Cato was about to make witty retort back, Clove pulled his neck down, and leaned in for a kiss.

He crushed his lips back, enjoying the taste of her. Cato smiled into the kiss, pulling back, "You. Definitely you."

Clove's face lit up and she jumped into his arms, her adoring eyes staring back into his, "Don't worry, I'll give the audience an especially good show."

Cato held her close and laughed, "Don't ever leave me again."

"Don't ever try to kill me again," she shot back airily.

"We'll see," Cato joked.

"Guess, we will."

That night, the pair laid together under the synthetic stars. Both were exhausted and neither felt quite up to hunting yet.

Certainly, that would have made them look weak in the Capitol's eyes, but lately, Cato had been thinking he really didn't care what the Capitol thought. He wanted to get him and Clove out of the arena, go home to Two, and the spend the rest of his life in the company of Dicey, Magnilda, Nero, Clove (obviously), Oliver, and the rest of his friends. He wouldn't even mind living across the street from Felix, although he'd make sure to install a sturdy set of locks to keep the big shot out of his way whenever uninvited.

The duo inhaled the trail mix, chattering excitedly about trivial matters - Callan and Magnilda, and how Cato planned to scare Callan off, their victory tour, and the souvenirs they'd collect, candy-coated chocolate and how Cato planned to eat as many pieces of candy as he could when they won.

The pair fell asleep, their fingers intertwined. Magnilda nearly suffocated Halle, holding her so tightly in her excitement that the blonde girl began sputtering for air.

In the morning (more like early afternoon), the two headed out further past the lake and towards a stream Clove had passed while searching for the tribute who'd blown up their supplies. Cato managed to spear a few fish, plopping them in the pot, one of the few supplies they had left. He smiled at Clove, feeling accomplished, as she set up a fire and cooked them.

He couldn't help but to be slightly bitter that he'd been deprived of food by his parents for so long, because in the end, he'd been acclimated to a pretty regular diet and lost his iron stomach anyways. That is to say that in the hours since sleeping, he'd been pretty hungry, and apparently starving him at seven hadn't helped as much as they'd theorized.

Upon Clove noting their bounty and how he'd rationed it, she looked at him, "I can snatch you some berries."

Cato smirked slightly, "Your lips taste better and we know I can't have both."

"We probably look pathetic," she observed.

"Probably," he grinned arrogantly, "But at least we're pathetic together."

"Together sounds good," Clove said hesitantly.

"Together sounds great," Cato corrected, waggling his eyebrows.

Clove began laughing uncontrollably, "Cato-" she choked out, her face convulsing. He slapped her back and she swallowed the piece of fish.

He arched his eyebrows and they both started laughing together, "I thought I was supposed to-" she laughed harder, trying to catch her breath, "supposed to be the death of you."

"You go down, I go with you, babe," he agreed.

"Then let's make it a point to get out alive," Clove said pointedly.

The two headed back to camp, and began to discuss a plan to find the other tributes, finish them off, and skip town. About an hour or two into their conversation, trumpets blared, and Claudius Templesmith announced the infamous feast. Cato and Clove smirked to each other, bubbling with excitement. This man had just made their job a whole lot easier.

"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately."

The pair looked to each other, not exactly sure what they needed. They knew what they wanted - extra clothes, a more diverse plate, more supplies - but there wasn't anything they desperately needed. Then, Cato turned to Clove. What they needed was the opportunity. Pure and simple, they needed to gather their last prey and hunt them down.

"If you get Fire Bitch, I get Thresh," he told her.

"Fair enough."

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance," Claudius Templesmith finished, and his feed cut out.

The duo continued to plan late into the evening, with Cato using rocks, blades of grass, sticks, and other items to develop a strategy. It wasn't bad, especially considering how Cato had always neglected strategy as an area of study, but all Clove could think was _Yeah, right. Nope. Not in a million years. You're in for a surprise. Haha, as if. _

About three or four hours following sunset, Cato took Clove into his arms, and they laid together, ready to fall into a deep sleep. Clove leaned against him for support, but didn't fall asleep, instead reformulating a plan.

Once she was done perfecting her plans, she began pondering all the things she would have lost if the Capitol had only allowed one victor and it hadn't been her - which it most certainly would have been! - such as the opportunity to watch her sister mature into a lovely young woman, or to see Dicey graduate high school and become employed as a peacekeeper, or to even see Nero's wedding to his happy little nitwit.

The Capitol was truly a kind, benevolent ruler, and she thought back to Athena's comments prepping her for the interviews.

_You, without the Capitol's doting affection, would be entirely worthless!_

Clove had a renewed respect for her mentor, and couldn't wait to tell her as much, wondering if she'd live in close vicinity to her, or if she'd be stuck near someone like Felix. As long as she lived next to Cato, she didn't really care, though.

What she would have most regretted losing was the chance to beat Cato in the Games, because the other players had never really been contenders, it'd had always been her against Cato, and right now they were tied 4-4.

Katniss was hers. Thresh was his. Lover Boy, they decided, could bleed out for all they cared (and if Cato tried to claim his death, she'd slit his throat and claim his own to even the score), so the final challenge was Red. She was the tie-breaker, and Clove made a note to herself to make as many jokes to Dicey as she could when she returned.

It was a frosty, cool night, and she leaned closer to Cato, who unconsciously brought her form closer to his. "You're cold, Loh-vee," he slurred in his sleep, and she brushed her fingers across his cheeks. Was it healthy to forgive someone who only 48 hours ago had tried to kill her? No, most likely not, but that wasn't really a fair judgment to make, because she'd have sent a dagger through his spine without a second thought.

Though she acknowledged how deeply they cared for one another, it'd always be a 'me first' sentiment. It was the only way to survive, to overcome their difficulties in a damning environment like Two West.

About a half hour before they were scheduled to awaken, Clove discreetly removed herself from the tent, drank her fill of water, secured her knives, and made sure she was ready. This was going to be good. In the distance, the ground shook, and Clove realized how ill-prepared they'd been in planning, their miscalculation. As she got to the corner behind the Cornucopia, she saw the girl from Five dart off, her medium, green bag in tow.

_Damn it! Now, I'm going to have to hunt after her later,_ she cursed to herself. In the back of her mind, Nero admonished with crossed arms, _Cheaters never prosper, Clove. _

Luckily, her original bounty came into sight. The smaller girl hesitated before trying to emulate Red's plan. _ Ready for this, Bitch on Fire?_

Clove threw her first knife and to her utter dismay, Twelve managed to deflect with her bow. _Is that even fucking possible? You've got to be kidding me. _

She scowled, ready to throw another when the girl nearly sent an arrow into her heart. Clove turned and the arrow embedded itself nicely into her left arm. Clenching her teeth and shutting her eyes, she pulling the arrow out and assessed the wound. The girl from Twelve took the opportunity to snatch her bag off the clothed table. _Not today, _Clove thought and threw a second knife, which grazed her rival's forehead.

Finally, something was going her way. Blood gushed down Twelve's face as she aimed another arrow, but Clove slammed her to the ground, pinning her down with her knees. She'd had a lot of teachers, both official and unofficial in her life, as the boys' visages passed through her mind, she grinned vindictively. She'd certainly had a lot of practice in this area.

"Where is your boyfriend, District Twelve?" she taunted, "Still hanging on?"

"He's out there now. Hunting Cato," Twelve snarled defensively, then yelled out, "Peeta!"

The entire thought was laughable. Clove jammed her elbow in the girl's windpipe, cutting her off, and turned from side to side. Neither boy was in sight and Clove pondered nervously. In a fair match, Bread Boy was toast - _heh_, she thought - but if there was even the possibility that her partner was still asleep...

Turning back to pinned girl, Clove grinned, "Liar. He's nearly dead. Cato knows where he cut him. You've probably got him strapped up in some tree while you try to keep his heart going. What's in the pretty little backpack? That medicine for Lover Boy? Too bad he'll never get it."

Her victim visibly flinched as Clove withdrew a small, especially delightful knife, "I promised Cato if he let me have you, I'd give the audience a good show."

Struggling, her rival tried to break her hold, but Clove had enough experience keeping down boys twice her rival's size, and she was small to begin with, even smaller than Clove. Thinking of the best way to unsettle her, Clove smirked. It'd been days since her last kill and she'd yet to show the Capitol what she could do, so she'd eliminate the Girl on Fire as special tribute to their generosity, and show them they'd made a good choice in allowing both her and Cato to win.

"Forget it, District Twelve. We're going to kill you. Just like we did your pathetic little ally... what was her name? The one who hopped around in the trees? Rue? Well, first Rue, then you, and then I think we'll just let nature take care of Lover Boy. How does that sound?"

The grimace in Twelve's face sent a thrill of adrenaline up her spine. _Look who finally became useful. Better late than never, Marvel. _

Clove sneered, leaning in, "Now, where to start?" Wiping the blood from the other girl's wound, she surveyed her, deciding where to begin. After a desperate attempt to bite her hand, Clove forced her head onto the ground by her hair.

With a purr, Clove began, "I think... I think we'll start with your mouth." She began to tease her victim with the the blade of her knife.

To her credit, the girl from Twelve didn't take the coward's way out. She firmly kept her eyes open.

"Yes, I don't think you'll have much use for your lips anymore. Want to blow Lover Boy one last kiss?"

Seconds later, the insect from Twelve spat her in her face, and fury engulfed Clove. _So, is that how you want to go down? Fine with me, _she seethed. "Alright then. Let's get started."

Right as she began to make her first incision, she was dragged away. _Alright, alright, Cato! _He sure was a sour sport, but Clove wasn't about to let him take Twelve from her. Clove opened her eyes, ready to give the blonde a piece of her mind, when - _Not Cato!_ She let out a panicked scream. _Not Cato!_

Clove knew she didn't have a chance against the boy from Eleven, especially seeing as he'd somehow managed to gain weight in their two week stay in the arena thus far. Thresh lifted her up, leaving her feet dangling in open air. He then flipped her over and threw her to the ground.

Clove let out a groan.

"What'd you do to that little girl? You kill her?" he screamed, towering over her.

_Fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck. _

She scurried back on all fours, trying to get away as quickly as possibly, but found it near impossible to coordinate her movements with her wishes. "No! No, it wasn't me!" Clove replied, shaken.

"You said her name! I heard you. You kill her?" Thresh repeated.

_I just said I didn't, you fucking moron! _She thought, before realizing this wasn't a good time to making any snipes, whether aloud or in her thoughts.

Thresh continued not to believe a word she said, "You cut her up like you were going to cut up this girl here?"

"No! No, I-" upon catching sight of a stone in the palm of his hand, the size of a paperback novel, she paled. Clove could just hear Dicey muttering, _A tribute from Two done in by a rock of all things? Isn't that cheap? _"Cato! Cato!" she shrieked out.

His faint reply of "Clove!" was the last nail in her coffin.

Without a second to lose, Thresh brought the stone against her temple. Clove was paralyzed, but conscious enough to know her injury was irreversible, unrecoverable.

Cato called out her name again, this time closer, "I'm coming! Hold on, Clove!"

Everything seemed fuzzy, she waited for Twelve's screams, but they never came. Instead, she and the boy from Eleven had a discussion on his whimsical, pathetic partner while Clove's chest rose and fell unsteadily. The two parties split, and she could hear by the crack in his pitch that Cato saw her.

Cato fell to the floor, "Clove, Clove - please open your eyes!"

She begun to shake, unsure if it was from the overwhelming pain or the sob contained in her chest, "I don't want to die," she whimpered.

Surprised she could even get out that much, Cato lifted her into his lap, and kissed her forehead. His tears spilled onto her cheeks as her eyes fluttered open, "Stay with me, please-" he stopped, his sobs breaking up his words.

"Felix, somebody help! Felix!" he let out a high, trembling screech. "HELP! Please, please-" Cato begged.

But, nothing happened. No parachutes fell. There were no miracles left. They'd used one too many in their years together.

"Start it over. Start it all over!" Cato called to the sky, tears rolling down his cheeks, "Reset the game. I'll-I'll play it right this time. I'll be a better tribute, please - please - please... Take me instead!"

"I'll see her, Cato," she told him, her eyes closing once more as the pain shifted, "Mama was always so pretty, and I'm just... just-"

At this point, both were shaking, overtaken by a cool breeze. Cato held her tightly, giving her as much of his warmth as he could. "Don't say that." He snapped, shaking her. Cato planted another ginger kiss on her forehead, "You're beautiful." His face contorted painfully, as he continued to sob. He wished he could be strong for her.

"You can't go, Clovey. I'm not ready for you to go." Cato told her as he lovingly leaned in closer to her, pressing his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes.

"Don't go," she requested weakly.

Cato only held her tightly, and desperately croaked, "I'm right here." His eyes glazed with fresh tears that wet his cheeks.

With a fragile laugh, she managed, "You're an ugly crier, beautiful."

A messy half-sob, half-laugh bubbled in his chest as he cradled her head. He gently caressed her hair, and begged frantically, "Stay strong, baby. I need you. Nelle needs you. Dicey, and Nero, and even the rat bastard need you - Please, please don't go."

Clove closed her eyes, and murmured, "Don't forget me."

In the distance, a familiar cannon shot into the air, leaving one dead, but it might as well have rung twice.

* * *

**AN** - If you read the last scene to "Losing Your Memory" by Ryan Star, it becomes infinitely sadder. Three chapters of canon to go, followed by five of alternate ending.

Quinn, crushing on Felix probably isn't healthy, but he was the prototypical ideal guy in Two (strong, smart, vicious, and later, rich). Dreamyourwaythroughlife, I get the quotes for every chapter based on songs that inspire me when writing, or themes regarding the overall chapter. Seems like there was a scene for everyone last chapter, so I'm glad you guys liked it.

Please review. I want to know what you thought of Clove's last moments, Cato's search for her, and for their interaction when/after he found her. Feedback, please!


	47. The Inevitable

Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.

- Ernest Hemingway

* * *

_A low-toned voice boomed theatrically, "Welcome back. We are currently in the company of Magnilda Holloway, sister of District Two tribute Clove Holloway. The games are down to the final six, and even more impressive, a new rule change has been invoked. Under this offer, two tributes from the same district can win together. It's a wonderful opportunity for Clove, and her partner Cato Elroy, both sixteen." _

_The brunette sat on a high stool, one knee over the other. A strenuous smile was plastered on her face and a new lavender bow clipped into her hair. One of the research assistants with long, green eyelashes leafed through a packet, presumably on District Two as the producer stalled.  
_

_"So, what's the first thing you'll do if your sister wins?"  
_

_Magnilda placed her palms in her lap, straightening her posture. "It's not if, sir," she smiled at him sweetly, "It's when. Clove is the one to beat, and unfortunately for her competitors, I just don't think they can pull it off."  
_

_The camera panned a different angle. "You seem to have a lot of confidence in your sister. Are the two of you close?"  
_

_"We grew up doing everything together. After all, we're only three years apart. My sister is determined and impossible to beat down, and she's always gone out of her way to make sure I have the best opportunities."  
_

_The producer arched his golden brows, picking up quickly, "What sort of opportunities?"  
_

_For a moment, she froze, picking her words carefully. Her cheeks flushed as she gushed, bragging, "If it weren't for her, I'd have never come so far. I'm the top of my class."  
_

_"Was she the top of her class?" one of the research assistants squeaked, before covering his mouth. The director and producer wore exasperated expressions, but waited for her answer with curious eyes.  
_

_Magnilda only smirked at the young man, "I think Clove's performance speaks for itself."  
_

* * *

A sprained arm and slap across the cheek - these were the fruits of her endless stream of complaints.

Wherever he was, Dicey was likely nursing some pretty nasty gashes across his right cheek, courtesy of the young girl's long nails and short temper. As soon as the redhead had spoken his piece, which had been to the effect of, "Not everything is about you, Nelly!" he'd run off to who-knows-where and left her with a rather unenthused Callan and Halle.

She'd foolishly informed the audience that Clove was 'the one to beat.' Her conscience wouldn't let her forget it, taunting her that she might as well have brought the stone across Clove's temple herself. She'd baited the audience and tempted fate and this was her punishment.

When she'd given voice to her concerns, Dicey had launched himself at her. He'd been entirely silent throughout Clove's death and had she been paying attention she might have noticed the whitening of skin and the glassiness in his eyes, but the way in which she continued to fixate on her own role had become the last, flimsy straw that broke the camel's back.

The redhead could have said, _it's not your fault. _He should have said, _it's not your fault. _Instead, he'd detonated.

Conflict resolution wasn't exactly a regular topic of discussion at the Annex, and all they'd ever been really taught was when they wanted something, tangible or not, they should take it, and that's all there was to it. Violence was an easy medium in which to trade and the one in which they most frequently indulged.

Only the smallest, most uncomfortable dab of sympathy could be found in Callan and Halle's eyes. Magnilda had exercised all her goodwill, having played the manic, melodramatic half-pint role just a little too well. Now, she was tired, and she just wanted a hug, a steady hold, and at this point she didn't care from whom. In three short weeks, she'd managed to scare off all her friends - Arianne still disappointed by the lack of engagement, Pyrite was plain scared of her, and she'd more than overstayed her welcome with the Wilder family.

"Let me get something for your arm," Callan offered.

Magnilda studied him for a minute. A small part of her wondered if she had wanted Callan just to emulate the relationship that Cato and Clove shared. All at once, several reasons came to mind about why that wouldn't have worked - their age difference, the disparity in their temperaments, the way in which he thought he was smarter than her, hell, even the way in which she'd immediately dismissed him as a source of comfort when things had gotten tough.

Sure, Cato had tried to kill Clove, but he'd also kissed her, caressed her, and respected her. The two of them might have gone to bed angry, but in the morning, they were always on equal footing, and nothing short of a miracle - or a terrible disaster could tear them apart.

That's when the young girl realized that Clove was never coming home. There'd be no more snuggly gossip sessions, no more knife-throwing one-on-ones, no more pointless fights, and nonsensical insults. There'd be no more Clovey and Nelle, Clo and Nelly, or Loey and Magnie, and that's when the walls began to narrow in on her.

With a croaky gasp of air, she darted towards the front door and sprinted the whole distance home. She collapsed onto the gravel path near her driveway, the rocks leaving imprints on her knees, and let out a dry sob. It couldn't have been only five years ago when Mars Elroy died. She barely remembered him, but she was starting to think maybe she and Cato shared far more in common than they thought.

She wished she had another Halston Rooney. She wished she had a dozen Halston Rooneys, and an unlimited supply of weapons.

It took a couple of shaky attempts to unlock the front door, where she collapsed on the couch. Her last thought as she drifted off to sleep was who deserved more blame; her for pinning a bedazzled target to Clove's back, or Cato for failing to protect her.

Yet another thing they had in common - the inability to accept responsibility.

* * *

Drowning. He was drowning.

Every strike of lightening sent a jolt through his spine, and he flinched in its wake. The rain spilled down the sides of his tent and collected directly overhead. They were trying to drown him. He was going to die a miserable, dishonorable death.

A dirty, cheap, unsatisfying death. He'd be an unmarked grave, a shame to his district... to Clove.

And yet, they continued to wait. To let them lie like sleeping dogs.

He wanted to rest, but it wasn't his decision to make. It never had been. If he died, Clove would haunt him. Cato had to win.

The worst of it was far from over. Pangs of hunger and teeth chattering - If only his cohort-mates could see him now. Oh, but they could. Or couldn't they? Were his sloppy tears a good soundbite? No, not if they wanted to keep playing the games the way they'd been playing them so far. What was more likely was that the cameras were more invested in the Bitch on Fire - her and Lover Boy fucking tenderly for the whole world to see.

He was a muddy mess - evidence of his crimes - but he bet those sick fucks had enjoyed every second.

Tired - that's all Cato could think, feel, breathe. He was utterly winded and overwhelmed. No rest for the wicked.

Drowning. He was drowning.  
And he had no reason to swim.

* * *

Securing the teen into the blankets, the young man withdrew, hesitating. "Don't touch me," the small, tired voice complained, stirring slightly before bolting up and opening his eyes, "Sorry, that's not what I meant!-"

"Relax. You're safe," a familiar voice remarked. Softly, he added once again, "You're safe."

There was a delay and Felix's eyes widened, trying to take in the whole image before him, "Finnick Odair?"

"The one and only," the bronze-haired man replied sardonically.

"I definitely cannot afford you."

Finnick cracked a faint smile at that, "Money's not my currency anyway."

"Um-"

"There have to be a couple hundred doctors running around here. You should get help."

Felix squinted his eyes, trying to see the green-eyed man through the blanket of darkness, "I'll keep that in mind for when I'm actually sick?"

His heart was beating erratically and Felix thanked for small miracles that his idol couldn't see him very clearly in the darkness. Despite the context, he couldn't bother to be embarrassed. "You been self-purging for long, Mr. Grey?"

There was softness in his voice that unnerved Felix, "Felix, just Felix. The president, he-"

"Alright, just Felix. Got it." A wan smile appeared on Finnick's face, "At first, I thought your compulsive hydration issues were an arena-coping mechanism, but... Vomiting usually make you feel better when you're stressing?"

There was a beat, before Felix said slowly, "Why would it?"

"Because it seems to be a consistent practice of yours. I found you a total mess on the stairs."

Felix put on a cordial smile, "Thanks for the help. I'll be fine."

"You always been this cynical of others? I'm just trying to help."

"I don't know. Let's ask my friends. You know, the one who's dead, the one who might as well be dead, the one who might kill me, or the one who will definitely kill me."

A mirthless laugh fell from Finnick's lip as he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, "A simple yes or no would have sufficed."

Felix wiped at his forehead, asking, "Everything seems hazy."

"Your sympathetic system went into overdrive. You had a panic attack, in between episodic vomiting sprees. It was so bad that I'm surprised you didn't burst into flames."

"What I wouldn't have given for the chance," the seventeen year old replied morosely.

"Sorry about your friend. That exit was really something too. Never would have expected that out of a pair from Two of all places."

The raven-haired teen took a deep breath, "And I guarantee you not a single second aired."

Finnick watched him for a second, "You want another blanket? You're shivering." The teen shook his head, averting his eyes, and then rubbing his cheeks. Finnick ignored his response, and covered him with a second blanket.

"Why did I volunteer for this?" Felix asked, a rasp in his question. His voice descended into a broken quaver, "I'm not smart enough to be a mentor. I actually thought that together they'd be indestructible and wasted everything I had left on a bag of fucking trail mix."

Handing him a small glass of water, Finnick gave him a sympathetic expression, "It's a learning curve."

"Nero is going to hate me. Oh, fuck. Nero is going to hate me!" Felix cried, resting his face in his hands. He peeked through his fingers, "He's never going to forgive me for fucking this all up. Shit - they could have won together, and I-"

Finnick leaned back, "I'm going to be straight with you, squirt. I don't think the gamemakers were ever planning to let freckles win. They want it come down between your boy and the Girl on Fire."

"I swear if that stupid bitch wins, I'll-"

The mentor from Four sighed, "Think carefully about your next words."

Felix burrowed himself in the blankets. "Don't you get it?" he snapped, "I told Clove I'd protect her and I ruined everything. She's gone, dead, and I'm never going to hear her chirpy little comebacks again. She was pretty much my sister - which I should have recognized as a sign, because I couldn't save my real sister - and I let her die. I could have-"

"What?" Finnick asked him, a hard edge in his voice, "Bedded more sponsors? Look at yourself! You don't sleep - I saw you the first few days. You never left the game center. By the looks of it, you barely eat, and on top of it all, you force-induce vomiting by drinking your body's weight in water. There's nothing you could have done. You can barely take care of yourself. How the hell were you expecting to take care of someone else?"

Most of what Finnick had said flew over his head as Felix started to sob, burying himself in the blankets, and trying to muffle the sound with the fabric. He couldn't take it anymore - being the Capitol's rag doll, having to choose which of his friends should win or die, losing his entire family.

"I'm not trying to break your spirit, but the unfortunate dose of reality is that you've got a long road to travel. So, what are you going to do about it?"

A few years ago, Felix half-listened to a lecture that asserted diamonds as the hardest substance known to man, yet claimed they were equally brittle. At the moment, that was a perfect synopsis of his current state of mind. Rough, yet irrevocably vulnerable.

In two days, it'd be a year's worth since his victory. A year's worth of appeasement and muddy water.

With a grit determination, he wiped at his cheeks.

"I'm going to fight."

* * *

The massive tribute had been a challenge to overcome, one he would have normally accepted with a devilish grin. No, but this was different. He was different. The man from Eleven had spat various epithets and degenerative words and hollow accusations. _You're a monster! _

_Yeah?_ Cato asked with a grin, _and what's your excuse?_

The flash of surprise in Thresh's eyes had been worth it. To strip him of his dignity, and shine a spotlight on his blaring humanity, but he didn't deign Eleven the opportunity to defend himself. He'd never had a chance. He and Clove had never a stood a chance. Happily ever after had never been a possibility, and in the end, he felt stupid for taking ten years to come to what should have been an obvious conclusion from the start.

Thresh received a spear to the throat. Clove hadn't been able to speak her piece, to defend herself, so why give him the opportunity? It was an homage to her honor, and he hoped she'd enjoyed the show... wherever she was.

And then the rain stopped. They were sleeping dogs no longer.

* * *

They were like ants spread across a city map.

In the central-west quadrant, Dicey Wilder trained illegally in the room in which he and Clove had had their first fight. Farthest north, Lieutenant Balthazar Holloway sat at station base, watching the games on one of the many screens spanned before him from the corner of his eye. In the western quadrant, Nero Kaiser laid in the protective arms of his loving fiance as she ran her fingers through his hair and kissed his neck reassuringly. In southwestern quadrant, Orion Elroy stood in quarry headquarters, watching helplessly as his son stared into the sun, bewitched. With her arms crossed, his ex-wife observed silently, covered in a layer of soot.

From the comfort of home, Sundara and Oliver Elroy watched on-edge as Cato headed toward the lake.

"Mama, mama!"

"Don't worry, honey," Sundara soothed, "Cato's almost home. He's almost home, sweetie."

In the grand scheme of things, they were all so magnificently insignificant - just ants spread across a city map.

* * *

There was a lump in his throat. Ever since he'd killed Thresh, he'd felt restless and unnerved. Cato was sure there had been a great significance in the other tribute's death, but he couldn't for the life of him pinpoint what it was. For a half-decade, he'd loathed District Four for what they'd done... something awful to someone he'd once cared for - the details were fuzzy. He'd wanted them to pay for their dishonorable acts for years, but District Eleven... District Eleven was so irrelevant it wasn't even worth wasting time thinking about.

Thresh was dead, so why did he still feel so disappointed?

After resting through the night, he woke late the next afternoon.

He stripped of his attire, save for a pair of standard boxers, and immersed himself in the frigid water. Was it possible he'd suffered a brain injury in all the chaos? The blonde ran his fingers gently around the edge of his head and around the back. Despite a mild ringing in his head and a stiffness in his neck, Cato felt fine.

The blonde racked his head, trying to compile a list of items he'd could recall at will:

27 - His kill count. Five in the games - a drearily low number, and nearly half that of his predecessor's - and 22 residents of District Two - ages five to sixty-three. The youngest of his kills had been a starving, frail girl sold to the training range by her parents. The worst part was they'd probably barely turned a profit. Kids didn't sell well. No one wanted to kill a kid. The oldest had been a man found to no longer be contributing to society. 27. A shameful number, but by the way he felt now, Cato could tell shame was nothing new to him.

3 - His Annex ranking, out of a total of 41. Even at the top, he still fell to the bottom.

11 - The age he'd been when he'd gotten his first kiss. It'd been a cute, curly strawberry blonde and he really had no idea who she was. When she'd asked if that made him her boyfriend, and he in return had asked if that was what she wanted, she'd bounced up and gave him a resolute 'yes!' Cato had let out an arrogant laugh. _A waiting bounty isn't nearly as fun, _he'd taunted her. Something told Cato there was more to the story than the halfhearted, mean-spirited assault on her pride, but what it was, he couldn't recall.

16 - Today was day sixteen of the hunger games. Sixteen days and 19 competitors eliminated.

Very hesitantly, he submerged his entire body under the water and tried to wash the filth from his hair. On the banks of the shore rested his attire - the same green shirt, beige pants, his belt, and the skintight mesh of armor. He knew what it was for; to be used against fire girl's arrows, but he didn't know why he felt so fortunate to have it. Almost as if it'd been fate that he'd been gifted with such a prize, and how valuable a prize it truly was.

Cato had to win, that much he was aware, but he couldn't help but to feel as if there was more at stake than just his life if he lost. As he made the final count, a cannon shot into the air. Was it Lover Boy - had the medicine failed him? No, more than likely the pair from Twelve had found Red.

_Fine with me, _he thought, _Show me what you got, Fire Bitch._

The blonde pulled on the armor and then the rest of his clothes. Cato secured his sword in his jacket and then snatched the spear he'd used to kill Thresh, one of his very last weapons, and headed on the long path downstream.

Upon reaching it, he scowled, letting out a stream of expletives. They'd drained the stream, left it bone dry, and eliminated his last form of sustenance. They'd been watching him for days, quite aware of the boundaries he wouldn't cross, his hesitance to stray too far and drown at sea. Mocking him, they were mocking him. He thought back to his candidacy partner, whose name he couldn't recall. How she'd once picked up on this weakness.

_It's not that big a deal, Elroy. Try to relax._

But it was. The game makers wanted fire girl to win. They had been rooting for her from the very start. Cheated. He'd been cheated!

The more he thought about it, however, the more he was convinced they were a bunch of sentimental fools. Cato smirked. Luck by it's very nature was unreliable, relying all on chance. Skill, on the other hand, was a constant presence and one unlikely to shift. The odds were certainly stacked in his favor, and nothing, nothing they could do would change that. If they wanted a show, he'd be sure to give them one, and in his predecessor's words '_ruin her, and remind every tribute to come that no one likes a martyr._'

Hours passed as he foraged for berries - the sweetness that gnashed against his teeth felt bitter. Not very far away rested a bushel of nightlock. Glimmer had often stared it wantonly. Cato let out a nasty laugh - she'd been entirely useless. He should have let her have them. What he would have to done to watch the glance of betrayal as the light in her eyes went out, as her snake-eyes shone no longer.

He retreated to the now-dry camp and fell into a restless sleep where he was haunted by a girl with hazel eyes. Cato promised her, promised her he wouldn't forget. But, as he rested under the flimsy shelter, he knew he had broken his promise. They had made him forget.

When he awoke, he picked up the spear and headed to the west - the girl on fire had a strong grasp of the geography, having stayed in the trees when they'd caught her, having retreated in the same direction after burning their supplies, even calling out to her whimsical ally when she'd fallen. Here in the brush, she'd wait.

As he stalked through the meadow, he grinned. The youngest tribute's blood still stained the dirt in which she'd passed. Just as the rain had failed to wash away his sins, they'd failed to wash away the Capitol's either. He was on the right path.

Several more hours passed as he made his way, recalling various events that transpired here - being stung by trackerjackers, escaping the burning forest, the very first night. Resting at the base of the tree in which he'd once fell, Cato heard a howl in the distance.

_What the-_

Followed by trampling on the ground as the howls got faster. Cato quickly got to his feet, trailing away from the trunk of the tree. He tried to identify the creatures before the howls became unbearably loud. He bolted, running as fast as he could.

As he sprinted, he tried to ignore the erratic thumping of his heart. They were going to kill him - make him an example. After running for what must have at least been a twenty minute spread, Cato stumbled over a root, dropping his spear to the ground. His face paled and cowardly tears nearly sprung to the corner of his eyes.

_Pull yourself together! _a voice rung. Clumsily, he picked himself up and continued to run, finally making the clearing. Sweat poured down his forehead, and for a moment he wondered if he'd collapse and die of suffocation. A most dishonorable, and frankly embarrassing way to go.

In the distance, back towards the lake, the tributes from Twelve stood bewildered as he bolted towards them. The girl sent an arrow towards his chest, which rebounded instantly.

"He's got some kind of body armor!"

The blonde paid them no mind, heading towards the Cornucopia. If they wanted to offer themselves up as a distraction, that was absolutely fucking fine with him. Behind him, he heard a huff, signifying that they'd finally decided to save their own skin.

Cato climbed atop of the Cornucopia, forcing his brain to discount the hiss of pain as his hands hoisted him up the side of the hot metal. Collapsing, he tried to regain his equilibrium and to breath, but everything just hurt. They'd never trained him for this, to run from a pack of over-sized wolves. Hell, he'd never even see a wolf before - natural or mutated.

In Two, the muttations were carnivorous rabbits, ravenous bats, and camouflaged foxes.

The girl from Twelve made it over the side of the Cornucopia, then turned back to help her partner, whose leg apparently had healed. _Wonderful, _Cato thought acerbically, before wheezing out, "Can they climb it?"

The pains were unbearable and if he hadn't suffered brain damage before, he certainly was now. The wolf muttations stood on their hind legs, each different from the one beside it, and leaned their noses against the base, sniffing it. They each had collars, as if some sick fuck had been keeping them as pets, and he could only imagine some austere, cool man wrangling all the mutts together, when he saw that each collar had a number.

A smaller mutt, with an ashy coat and brown eyes stared at him. _Datum, _his mind supplied helpfully. Engraved in the mutt's collar was the number 3.

The Capitol was much more twisted than he could have ever imagined. The girl from Twelve seemed to come to the same conclusion as she let out a shriek.

"Katniss?"

"It's her!"

Stupidly, the boy from her district asked, "Who?" When she didn't reply, entirely manic in her movements, her partner shook her, "What is it, Katniss?"

They continued the same discussion, allowing him minor reprieve. Right when Cato thought he could stand up, the mutts began their assault on the horn, shaking it unsteadily. His hands trembled.

A cry came from the boy from Twelve, his former ally, as he was dragged over the edge by one of the wolves. A malicious grin appeared on Cato's face as his breathing slowed. Soon, it'd be just him and fire girl. If the Capitol wanted a show, all they had to do was ask.

Distracted, she shot an arrow at the largest of the mutts. This was his chance. He launched himself at Lover Boy, and forced him into a headlock.

He'd won. The girl from Twelve turned back to them as Peeta struggled in his arms. There was no way for her to fire without sending Lover Boy tumbling to his untimely demise.

Cato laughed at her determined face, "Shoot me and he goes down with me."

The two stood there at a stalemate. Would she commit the greatest dishonor and kill them both? At this point, he wouldn't blame her, but by the fire in her eyes, something told him she'd never even consider the option. She was simply too dumb to live.

Cato's lip turned up into a satisfied smile. _Time's running out, fire girl. Whatcha gonna do?_

The boy from Twelve lifted his fingers, crossing them in an x fashion. Cato furrowed his brows, before - but it was too late. The arrow pierced his hand, allowing Lover Boy to slam into him. Almost ironically, he slipped on the gushing blood from Twelve's wound, and plummeted over the side of the cornucopia.

Upon impact, all the air left his body, but again the vaguely familiar voice rang - _Pull yourself together. _With a grim determination, Cato withdrew the sword from his jacket, and struggled against the pack.

Minutes passed as he ended a few of the mutts, but not without his own set of scars. After killing one with red hair, he let out a piercing scream as another one clawed the side of his face. He shook, his determination wavering.

Impossible. It was utterly impossible. Perhaps strategic for the first time in his life, he led them around the cornucopia, edging towards the horn in a desperate attempt to rejoin his competitors atop. His sword swung across the wolves, then rebounded against the cornucopia - a pang of metal against metal. His endurance eventually waned and he collapsed against the edge, catching his breath, before the pack descended upon him.

Cato began to shake, blocking them with his arms. "No, please!" Tears streaked down his face as they dragged him away.

He let out another bloodcurdling scream as the inevitably of his death sunk in. And he realized he didn't care if he was a coward, exiled, mocked. He didn't want to die - too, too much was at stake. He was only a kid. He, he could have had a child, a wife, become a doctor, legal worker, a mason, or architect. Cato could have been an innovator, a man who saved the world, or at least District Two.

Why were they doing this to him?

"Why are you doing this to me? I've done everything..." his eyes glimmered with tears, "Why wasn't it enough. Why wasn't I enough?"

He'd done everything right! He'd killed for them, trained for them, even driven himself to madness for **them.**

The pain was excruciating, drawn out as they ate away at the limbs left unprotected by the armor, "Don't, don't! Please!" Another mutt bit at the side of his head, and as he lost his hearing, Cato wondered if it were a blessing or a curse.

As his consciousness faded briefly, he wondered who was watching him. Were his mother and father scared, sobbing miserably at the sight of his terrible end? He couldn't remember them - what they looked like, their work, or even his relationship to them. Cato knew he had a brother, but that's all he could remember... were there more, others? Did he have a sister too, an uncle, or a cousin? What about a girlfriend, or even a regular friend? Couldn't be.

No. A real tribute, a born-winner had no friends, only allies, and temporary ones at that.

Everything was hazy, and he found it difficult to piece his thoughts together. Cato's screams grew louder, more desperate as they ripped off his other ear. The blood puddled around the side of his head, staining his hair a scarlet red. For some reason that seemed funny, hysterical even.

Hours and hours passed and the pain only intensified, especially in the cool air.

Numb. He was numb to his surroundings, and the only thing he understood anymore was pain. The sun rose overhead, signifying a new day. The mutts dragged him out of the cornucopia, but only slightly. One of the smallest, one with dark fur licked his face, and he didn't understand. He opened his eyes enough to focus on the mutt with stunning hazel eyes. It was looking at him akin to pity, if that was even possible, but there's something comforting. As if he'd seen those eyes before.

Cato looked at it desperately and called out faintly.

"Please."

Right before the arrow pierced his skull - in his last dying breath, Cato Elroy let out a faint whisper. Those eyes had once belonged to a girl named, "Clove."

* * *

Cato Elroy died two days short of his seventeenth birthday. He was survived by his mother and father, stepmother, and younger brother Oliver. Though somewhat of an anomaly, he returned home in the same wooden box as many of the men and women before him did, and became the 123rd District Two tribute sacrificed in the name of honor.

In his passing, Cato Elroy proved that even the brightest stars among us one day dim.

* * *

**AN** - Sorry for my dismal lack of updates. I work for two domestic violence shelters and currently work seven days a week (full-time as a community outreach coordinator and part-time as a shelter advocate) and I'm not used to the utter lack of free time yet. It's exhausting. I'm glad you guys enjoyed the last chapter, though, and that it made you cry.

To whoever asked me if they could make a spoof video - yeah! go ahead. just send me the link when you're done, because I'd love to see it. I've also been notified that a pair of Cato and Clove cosplayers snapped a shot that relates to The Unwinding Circle, so I'll post that to my tumblr (lilacalyssahalliwell) as soon as I get it!

This is not the end. There are two epilogue chapters, followed by the alternate ending.

**As always, please review.**


	48. The Wilder Side

When the rich wage war, it's the poor who die.  
- Jean-Paul Sartre

* * *

Epilogue - Part I  
October, Year 75

* * *

A young soldier staggered down the stairs of District Two's Military Base, clutching his gaping cheek with a dirty, damp cloth. The whole base would soon crumble, become ruins, just as the ancient Romans once had. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend it was just another afternoon in history class. Clenched firmly in his left hand was the machine gun - a pesky, dated weapon, but equally efficient and precise in its efforts. For a moment, he came to a stalemate. He could either surrender the gun and effectively surrender his life, or continue to drag the millstone and lose his footing.

Distracted by the round of statistical conclusion and surrounding chaos, he crumpled to the ground.

So this was how he'd die - funny. The nasty rebels circled in on him, ready to end his miserable life, when a girl called out for them to stop, and then repeated the command "Hold your fire!"

Katniss Everdeen. The soldier nearly laughed. A poisoning, toxic laugh caught in his chest. He'd been waiting for the day, the possibility, but he'd never imagine it'd one day come. They'd be proud - so, so proud. Dragging himself up by his knees, his mouth contorted into a sly grin as he positioned the barrel of his rifle to the crevice of her forehead. If he was going to die, then he was going to go out in style.

She backed up, holding her bow in surrender.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't shoot you." He challenged, a fire ignited in his darkened irises.

"I can't."

Confusion flooded the soldier's eyes. In Two they'd been taught to think on their feet, to be sure and smart. Perhaps it was the honesty, the earnestness in her answer that unsettled him, but she wasn't done quite yet.

"I can't. That's the problem, isn't it?" She lowered her bow, trying to rationalize the scene before her. "We blew up your mine. You burned my district to the ground. We've got every reason to kill each other. So do it. Make the Capitol happy. I'm done killing their slaves for them."

Her bow fell to the ground and she slid it over to him with her boot, effectively leaving her life in his calloused, broken hands. It was a big leap of faith and he wondered how much trust she had in the decisions of a complete stranger, from someone as far away from home as District Two.

"I'm not their slave," was his only pitiful response.

Katniss looked at him with a bleak expression, "I am. That's why I killed Cato . . . and he killed Thresh-"

As she babbled on self-indulgently, the soldier balled his fists. Perhaps Cato had killed Thresh in the name of the Capitol, but no... no, that wasn't right. He'd killed Thresh for Clove - who would have never been in the games if it hadn't been for Dahlia's murder, who wouldn't have even mattered, had their been no games in the first place, but... but... fuck. Damn this girl, damn this war.

He wanted to go home - the snow-capped mountains weren't worth it, weren't worth what he'd endured to get there.

"...and he killed Clove ...and she tried to kill me. It just goes around and around, and who wins? Not us. Not the districts. Always the Capitol."

Everything hurt. He'd tried for so long to keep _them_ from plaguing his thoughts, his every waking movement. Clove's redirects, her commands to calm down when his temper flared, and Cato's cheerful face laughing at his clumsy mistakes and keeping his feet stuck to the ground, telling him to never give up and cheering him on at every milestone.

Heat rose to his cheeks and he took a steady breath. He was tired of being sad all the time, tired of the ache in his chest that never dulled.

"When I saw that mountain fall tonight, I thought…they've done it again. Got me to kill you—the people in the districts. But why did I do it? District Twelve and District Two have no fight except the one the Capitol gave us."

Katniss Everdeen was going about it entirely the wrong way. It wouldn't have mattered if District Two and District Twelve 'had a fight.' What she failed to understand was that it'd never been about District Twelve. Hell, it'd never been about any of the districts. It'd been about doing what was right - protecting their protectors.

She sunk to her knees before him and urgently pleaded, "And why are you fighting with the rebels on the rooftops? With Lyme, who was your victor? With people who were your neighbors, maybe even your family?"

A flash of black hair and white teeth, grit with defiance and determination came immediately to mind, but he buried the memory. He didn't want to think about _him_, about the traitor and the grievances he'd committed against Cato's and Clove's memories. How he'd failed them not once but twice.

"I don't know."

The world was spinning out of control. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the unbearable grief, but something flashed over him.

Death had plagued the soldier all his life and he'd learned to treat it so casually, so tritely. He'd long ago stopped keeping count, lost his faith in something better, something different. Her gray eyes, steely and determined only confused him - gave him. . . hope?

Why would she risk it? Risk her life, knowing that while she might win a single battle, she could never win the war. And maybe not for the first time in his life, he wanted something more. More than just honor and doing what he was told.

She rose, gave him a quick glance, and turned in a circle, addressing the public of Two - the sleazy miners who'd left him to die, "And you up there? I come from a mining town. Since when do miners condemn other miners to that kind of death, and then stand by to kill whoever manages to crawl from the rubble?"

Oh, she was gullible. So, so terribly gullible. She and Cato had that in common - that and their casual grip, the way they both held their weapons firmly in their left hand, naturally, as if an extension of themselves. She was about as good a speaker as Cato too. Only convincing in the barest of states.

The miners actually thought they had a chance, that they could rebel against the Capitol and win. He'd told his mother, a miner herself, not to join them and condemn herself to a terrible fate. She grabbed his face, kissed his cheek, and told him each morning to be careful and be brave. He'd failed her in the former, but was desperately trying not to in the latter.

It was a hard end to avoid when suffering through immeasurable pain - when you could feel the life slowly slipping from your lips.

"These people are not your enemy!" The braided girl shouted, pointing to the wounded soldiers gasping for air. Then she turned to the hiding rebels, "The rebels are not your enemy! We all have one enemy, and it's the Capitol! This is our chance to put an end to their power, but we need every district person to do it!"

She had a lot of guts, a lot of nerve and as she extended her hand to him, inviting him in to her alliance, the soldier blinked. He'd been in so many before, but with Katniss Everdeen? He'd never conceived such a fate and all he could think was that Clove would have liked her. Had she had the chance, Clove would have really appreciated the girl's nerve, and by the looks of it, Katniss Everdeen needed a Clove. She needed someone swift, deliberate, and tactile. Someone smart enough to know better.

None of it mattered, though, because just as he was about to accept her grasp and the chance at a new life, Katniss Everdeen was shot in front of his very eyes, and the world fell into chaos once more.

* * *

**AN** - To the reviewer who asked, Clove is right-handed as stated in chapter eight. Cato is left-handed and so is Katniss :)

Three guesses who our resident soldier was. One more epilogue and then the alternate ending! Please review.


	49. The Grey Area

Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.  
- Oscar Wilde

* * *

Epilogue - Part II

* * *

**July 3rd, 74**

_Eighteen._

Tangled uncomfortably in the sheets, Felix pulled the heavy blanket over himself, and let out a breath. Warm, he was so deliriously warm. This summer fever had done a number on him, but they didn't care.

_I survived.  
_

He didn't like the vulnerability - felt small, like a child.

Asleep, his companion didn't seem nearly as animate and bizarre as most of the Capitol citizens normally did. It didn't lessen his desire to smash her over the head with his trusty war hammer, but at least she wasn't as garish and painful to look as they normally were. Her natural locks, which were a soft blonde hue, were more attractive than the purple wig they were hidden under. The more he watched her, though, the more he was convinced that the Capitolites were magnificent canvases of art - canvases of art gone magnificently wrong, that is.

With how many one-timers he'd "serviced" in the last year, the raven-haired man wondered briefly if he had any children out and about in the world. Felix cringed, desperately hoping against hope that he'd been lucky enough to avoid such a fate - after all, his life was in their hands.

In the post-modern culture (the one that had preceded Panem), a boy became a man the day he turned eighteen.

Further back, though, one became a man at the time of consummation, at religious ceremonies, at marriage, at the assumption of head of household. In District Two, however, it was commonly held that children crossed the threshold the day they turned twelve - it was the age in which one gave up all right to aid, consent, and frailty.

He'd given up all of that and more before age twelve.

Still, Felix Grey did not feel like a man - whatever that meant.

A few years back, he stole an anthology from Cato when the blonde had gone an inane ramble about school. In the decrepit, old book was the tale of a man named Benjamin Button. He was a man who as he grew wiser grew younger.

It was the unfortunate end to an unfortunate end.

As he closed his eyes, the memory of his sister's warm, brown eyes smiled down upon him. _You don't understand love, Felici._

_I don't understand a lot of things, Jade.  
_

* * *

**July 4th, 74 **

The smell of decomposition permeated the air, making it nearly unbearable. In any other context, he'd have found it amusing. You could literally pick out the killers and mass murderers - the men, women, and children who'd stolen someone else's last breath - because these individuals, despite their pressed suits and luxurious jewels, were entirely unabashed by the toxicity and odor.

Fourteen days was an uncomfortably long time to wait to bury a body. It was standard to wait a week before initiating burial processions, but they'd all pleaded with the lieutenant to wait, because to bury Clove on the 27th - on Cato's birthday - seemed unfathomably cruel.

His body arrived seven days after his death, the 25th - the 1st of July. Irony was a fucking bitch.

Region rules forbid burials and weddings on this day, as it was the official initiation of a new training year - a day in which the economy thrived and businesses were required to host extended hours. The next day had been the 2nd - Magnilda's 13th birthday - and not even District Two would demand a girl to bury her sister on her own birthday.

The following day Felix had been summoned to the Capitol, and he'd nearly begged Nero to make a plea on his behalf to the lieutenant. _Just one more day, sir. Please. Just one. _

Thus, today was the 4th of July and even in the torrential downpour the putrid smell lingered.

He wiped at his nose desperately, but the stench remained. Clove Holloway was literally rotting before his very eyes. _Deprive me of honor and I'll deprive you of sanity. We'll see which of us can hold out longer, rat bastard._

There was a standard of decorum for the many tributes that sought honor and returned in a body bag, and it was read only once for the both. The brunt of the crowd feigned morose faces, a polite, expected form of respect for the deceased. Only a dozen or so men, women, and children held any verity in their grief. Oliver, the blonde Felix recognized as Cato's brother, leaned into his mother's coattails, his tears dabbing the silky material.

The lieutenant stood resolutely - a distant figure from his remaining daughter. Nero was positioned carefully between his mother and his fiance, a slight tremble in his chest. Felix wanted more than anything to tell the ash-haired boy that everything would be okay, that he'd get through this, but Felix himself wasn't getting through it. He was barely surviving on his own and he knew he couldn't lie anymore, couldn't spit out anymore half-truths.

After all, it was his fault they'd failed in the first place.

* * *

**September, 74**

The anniversary of Jade and Roe's deaths was uneventful. Whenever he was feeling particularly masochistic, he'd sit in his niece's bright green room - the one he'd built but that she'd never gotten a chance to see. On this day in particular, he rested against the wall with Vega nestled comfortably against his chest.

A short period of time passed as he thought of all the things he wished he could have said, how much he wished he had told Roe every single night that he loved her, because he had, even if only a little, and even if not as much as he should have.

This was the year she would have turned six.

Vega soon grew tired of waiting and bit him, leaping out of his arms, and tearing throughout the room. Wild jackrabbits didn't exactly make good pets and this one had made it abundantly clear in the year he'd held it hostage. He hadn't exactly been the best caretaker either, often passing off the responsibility of feeding it to one of his neighbors - Lyme Welsh's daughter.

It should have considered itself lucky. When they'd been younger, he and his friends had _experimented _on the small creatures. One could only guess what that entailed.

Eventually, Vega grew sick, and Hannah, Hillary, Heidi - something with an H - told him he needed to release it back into the wild.

His initial response had been coarse denial. The rabid pest was all he had left, but she'd looked at him gently but affirmatively and told him that if he really cared for the small creature that he'd give it the opportunity to live.

In late November, during one of the Welsh girl's holiday breaks from school they traveled back into a patch of brush and released his last companion into the wild. Vega vanished in a matter of seconds.

* * *

**May, 75**

He'd expected the 'in fair Verona' shit from Cato and Clove, but Twelve was really fucking clumsy.

The victors of the 74th games became engaged at the close of their tour, which Felix could literally not have cared less about. Well, until it set off a cataclysmic end for the rest of them. President Snow's announcement came in the wake of early spring.

It hadn't taken long for Dicey and Nero to make the one-hour commute to Victor's Village and demand he avenge Cato and Clove. Like many of the victors in his neighborhood, they were absolutely thrilled with the announcement. Many of his neighbors returned to their training regimens, readying themselves for a second bid at glory.

He worked hard to put on a brave face, waving off any hints of concern, when Brutus had drunkenly slapped a hand over his shoulder - "You take this from me, kid, and I'll break your goddamn arm." He took a swig of his drink and grinned, "and then I'll break anything else you need."

Felix let out a sigh of relief. Brutus really was the coolest old man he'd ever met.

One afternoon only weeks before the reaping, Lyme Welsh stomped over, banging on his door, and changed his life. He'd expected some lecture, for her to plow him down for spending brief respites with her daughter, but he'd never been interested in the kid - she was even younger than Clove would have been.

"I heard from some pretty fucker in Four that you're ready to fight, that still true, kid?"

His first reaction had been to run. The Capitol had heard every blasphemous word and was ready to cremate his treacherous ass, but he'd only looked her in the eye, asking doubtfully, "And what if I did?"

She smirked, "You're in for a treat."

* * *

**The Quarter Quell and its aftermath (June-September), 75**

Felix Grey hadn't dared to volunteer - in any capacity.

Several days into the games, the television screen flashed black and the world went to hell in hand basket. Soldiers stormed through his home, barking commands, raiding his house, and taking him captive. "What do you want? I'll comply, just let me go, motherfuckers!"

One of the soldiers smashed him in the face and when he woke up, everything was peachy-keen from his newest residence in the Capitol's torture-chamber.

For weeks, all he heard were her agonizing screeches. Johanna Mason - one of the most brilliant victors he'd ever witnessed had been reduced to _this_. Sure, he hadn't been her biggest fan, but even he couldn't deny the sheer intensity of the young woman. He tried keep his sanity by finding justice in Peeta Mellark's blood-curdling screams, working to imprint them over the memory of Cato's pleas for mercy, but he failed in such an endeavor.

Six weeks passed until the the rebel soldiers stormed through, rescuing several victors. He'd been saved, saved by... by... The immensity of pain overwhelmed him and that spoke volumes for not only how much had been done to him, but also how far he'd fallen from his former glory. He opened his eyes to find the steely gray eyes of his savior.

Days later he heard one of them whisper - Gale Hawthorne.

A few days into his recovery, Finnick Odair visited him in the hospital and tried to recruit him for the next rebel mission - the mission to capture to Two.

"He's a good kid, Haymitch."

Haymitch Abernathy seemed to believe that as much as Felix did.

"I'm not good and I'm not a kid," he spat petulantly. Look what he'd been reduced to! Finnick slapped his shoulder halfheartedly and told him to shut up.

The man from Twelve nodded in the affirmative, still not trusting, "What do you know about District Two's infrastructure?"

"More than you could ever imagine."

* * *

**October, 75**

He and Katniss Everdeen spoke for the first time aboard the hovercraft to District Two.

"Why would you help us?" she asked him, the doubt smokey in her eyes.

Felix had long grown tired of the constant weariness. The rebels were the Capitol just painted a different shade. Literally no distinction, no difference in the way they looked at others. Their us vs them mentality was growing tiresome.

He opened his mouth to make a nasty retort when he realized that she was quavering slightly. _She was scared of him._

Felix grinned, satisfied. How long had it been since he'd met someone that still considered him a threat? He calmed down, the self-satisfied expression vanishing, and he only replied, "The war's not just about you."

Jade. Roe. His parents. Clove. Cato. Nero's father.

The braided girl watched him hesitantly, "I know," and then turned back to her window.

That was the extent of his communication with her.

* * *

Lyme was their flagship leader and she often discussed the different strategies the rebels had employed to try to bring down the military base.

The Mockingjay wasn't actually allowed to directly participate in combat. Felix wasn't so sure she was a good fighter anyway. So she divided her time between filming propaganda shorts for the districts, visiting the ill and wounded, and hunting in her free time.

Despite being heavier than she had been in the games, she was still thin and flimsy. How Clove had lost to her of all people he'd never know.

Well, he did. Clove had been arrogant. Clove had been herself, really. But it was hard not to be arrogant when you looked at Katniss. She was so innocuous.

He'd been assigned to the combat unit, working with many of rebels from Two. The oppressed men of Two North, many older than himself, and even less privileged than he'd been. The Capitol's soldiers - which were the men and women of Two - had been hosted in the military base.

He could have been one of them. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to be.

He could have been like... like...

"Felix, you're okay. We-"

Fuck.

"You're... You're with _them_, aren't you?"

He could hardly stand it. The flash of betrayal in Dicey's eyes, the accusation, but most importantly the disappointment. So he did what he did best - shut him up with a punch to the abdomen.

Speed had always been Dicey's crux, however, as he thrust the gun up against his chest. "One pull-"

Felix knocked the gun out of his hands, cursing, "Don't be a coward."

That was all the redhead had to hear before he tackled him to the ground, the two rolling around like children in a school fight. Felix threw a second punch, "You're going to lose."

"Don't underestimate your opponent," he spat back, his fist connecting with Felix's jaw.

The raven-haired man grinned as he pinned down the younger man. It'd been the first thing he'd ever said to the auburn-haired boy.

"You're not cut out for this line of work."

Dicey kneed him, "Never placed much emphasis on your opinions anyway."

Felix hit his head against Dicey's, causing him to fall back and clutch his forehead. He assumed the vantage position, when he heard a familiar call, "Don't let your guard down, Dice!"

Perhaps quite stupidly, Felix turned towards the speaker. He kicked Dicey in the side twice, forcing the soldier to hold onto his stomach for air. Nero's blue eyes looked on at him, and he panicked, pointing his gun at Dicey's chest.

"One move and I'll blow him to smithereens."

"Who's the coward now?" Dicey managed to wheeze.

No rounds of statistical conclusion were going to help the three now. "You're on their side," Nero said, stunned.

With a swift movement, Felix hit Dicey over the head with the edge of his gun, knocking him out cold. None of his thoughts streamed cohesively.

"I thought you were dead," Nero rasped out, looking absolutely stricken. "You've been with them the whole time! You bastard, you-"

Technically, that wasn't true, but it didn't stop the heaviness returning to his chest. He needed an out. Felix closed his eyes and released the trigger. Nero went down in seconds, the gaping wound in his thigh bleeding quicker and quicker as the raven-haired man made his escape.

* * *

Weeks passed before Thirteen sent in a second team composed of strategic workers - 'the brains.'

From the second he arrived, Gale Hawthorne observed his every movement, stalking after him, and never leaving to him to his own misgivings.

"I don't come cheap, pretty boy."

The dark-haired man blanched slightly, before resuming his stance of defiance. "I don't trust you, and I don't care what Haymitch or any of the rest of them say."

Felix grinned, crossing his arms, quite satisfied to finally hear the discontent aloud. Hushed whispers were fucking petty. "Fine with me, but don't expect to last long if you don't trust us. Your life is in our hands either way."

One afternoon, they were assembled to take a second look at the military base's interior. The rebellion had come to call it _The Nut,_ which irritated him more than it should have. Then again, most things had irritated him since returning to Two. His life had effectively stagnated - they'd been there for weeks and virtually no progress had been made.

'The brains' as they'd been called were hardly worthy of their title, making several inane suggestions that wouldn't work for various reasons. Finally, Lyme spoke on behalf of all Two rebels - Felix included, "The next person who suggests we take the entrances better have a brilliant way to do it, because you're going to be the one leading that mission!"

He let out a breath of frustration, sharing her concerns, when Gale finally offered an alternative. Instead of taking out the military base, they'd disable it. His stomach tightened at that.

"So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" Lyme asked.

"That's it," Gale said. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft."

It was brilliant. Risky, but brilliant. He'd have appreciated the sentiment more if didn't mean that they'd die - Nero. Dicey. Lieutenant Holloway.

They'd suffocate - which wouldn't even be an honorable way to go, but he couldn't object now. He'd made his bed, now it was time to lie in it.

"We'll never be able to trust them again," Gale remarked.

"They should at least have a chance to surrender," Lyme shot back.

"Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they fire-bombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here."

Felix's eyes narrowed violently. It took every ounce of restraint he had and then some to cool himself off. Lyme didn't look any better off. He'd made the wrong decision. Thirteen was no better than the Capitol and now he was paying the price.

A few days passed and then it came time to test Gale's theory.

Spectacular - it'd been absolutely spectacular. He, The Mockingjay, her guard, Gale, and a select batch of Two rebels watched as the rocks slid down the side of the mountain, effectively shutting it off from the world.

Felix tried not to wince. His parents had gone a similar way. _I'll be okay, Jade. I'll win, and we'll be okay. We'll all be okay. _Those were the words he'd spoken to his sister the day he'd volunteered for the games.

Hours and hours passed. Things became dreary and hopeless. The chances of any survivors became nil. _I'm sorry. _

The Mockingjay was taken away to make a speech and announce their victory. As if it wasn't visible from the lack of movement and heavy air. As Katniss began her speech, there was a breeze and then the ring of an arriving train. Rebel soldiers waited, tense, and ready to fire at any movement.

One of them shot out the train's headlight as the door opened. Felix squinted his eyes, unable to see well in the darkness. A young man stumbled out, clutching his gun in one hand and a cloth in the other.

Dicey.

He'd survived.

_Don't do anything stupid._

Katniss approached him, calling off the attack and kneeling beside him when he pointed the barrel of his gun directly at her.

_Fuck._ Why did Dicey always have to learn the same lesson twice?_  
_

* * *

As the auburn-haired woman changed his bandages, she murmured sadly."Baby, I told you to be safe."

The position on his side wasn't the most comfortable, but the healing process for his burns had been taxing and he'd preferred not to exacerbate his situation. Cato would have been proud of him for that one.

He let out a breath, "never been much of a good listener."

A stern expression replaced her sadness, but only for moment. "Isn't that the truth?" she quipped. She combed her hand through his hair and rubbed his shoulder soothingly and he nestled closer to her.

Dicey let out a hacking cough, "but it's okay, because I finally did it."

The permanent expression of discontent and concern didn't leave her face as she warily asked, "Did what, honey?"

His eyes remained closed, but a faint grin lit up his face. "Made enough money. Halle's finally free. I did it, mom."

An immense sadness fell over his mother, who only stroked his face gently. Her baby wasn't a baby anymore. A surge of pride rushed through her. She'd raised him right, he'd grown up to be such a good man. "Dicey-"

"Wasn't entirely selfless, though." He waved her off, embarrassed a bit by the admiration in her voice. His mother didn't know half the sins he had to make up for, and he still had long road ahead of him. "I had to prove to myself that I'm not him - and I did. I made a promise, a big one, and I kept it."

The sentiment that he didn't dare articulate resonated like a bell.

Halle was free.

and now so was he.

* * *

**December, 75  
**

Felix met President Coin for the first time late in the year 75. He tried to hide his repulsion and confusion, but it was too thick. Clear as day, really. The decision had been immediate and he was effectively left out of any more missions, having outlived his usefulness in her eyes.

He didn't mind.

He knew he would have died if Katniss hadn't stipulated that all surviving victors remain safe. He pretended to be grateful. Once in a while, he'd catch glances of Finnick and his wife, the victor of the 70th hunger games, Annie Cresta.

Good for Finnick.

Annie looked exactly like how he felt on the inside. He amended the thought - he probably didn't look good outside, either.

* * *

**January, 76**

After successfully ensnaring District Two, the next logical target for the rebels had been the Capitol. It was a shit storm, to be put nicely.

First, Katniss was announced as dead, then the announcement was rescinded. They'd sent in Peeta - who was about as stable as Cato had been when Clove died.

NOT. AT. ALL.

Finnick became a casualty of the mission and though he had barely known the man, Felix still felt a sense of loss. He owed the man so much more than he'd ever given him, because he'd been the only member of the rebellion with even a sliver of faith in him. It didn't help knowing that Finnick had left behind a legacy, reminding him entirely too much of Nero and his father.

Towards the very end, President Snow took several children hostage, using them as collateral and protection. He should have hired Felix as an adviser. He could have at least warned the president that Thirteen had never deigned having sympathy for the plight of children - just another manner in which they resembled the Capitol. The Mockinjay's sister was only one of the many, many casualties, but the shift in Katniss' behavior was immediate. She imploded.

President Coin's resolution was to take a vote - which essentially boiled down to whether or not they should host a final hunger games with the wealthiest, most influential Capitol children. He'd been extremely grateful not to have participated in the vote.

Weeks passed and he still didn't know what decision he would have made - probably the wrong one.

However, when it all boiled down, Katniss ended being smarter than he previously thought. President Coin became the last casualty of war, and Felix could not have been more impressed.

* * *

**February, 76**

He ended up taking Gale Hawthorne home to Two with him. The strong, burly young man might have made a select candidate in another life, and shared the same ruggedness. For the first few weeks, he sulked, watching the world from the window and saying little.

One night, Felix grew frustrated. Gale hadn't even lost anything important - just a girl. There were thousands in Two.

"Imagine you are in the ocean and she is just another wave. You may fall to your feet several times, but you must learn to fight harder, push through, and overcome your transgressions. You must overcome Katniss Everdeen."

It was nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense. He'd used to talk circles around Cato and Clove to piss them off, but Gale didn't bite as easily.

Gale sighed, exasperated, "I wouldn't expect you to understand. District Two isn't exactly known for its loyalty. You all live in a world of 'me first, me first,' forgetting what matters; honesty, integrity, family. You're a bachelor for life sort of guy."

For some reason he couldn't explain at the moment, angry tears welled up in Felix's eyes. Great. He was crying. Just what he wanted.

He'd been a warrior once. Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

"You don't know anything about District Two!"

Still. He still didn't know anything about District Two.

Family... it'd always been a touchy subject.

Family... Clove looming over her sister like a small, black cloud. Cato spending hours and hours fighting an invisible combatant, all for his brother. Dicey doing anything and everything to repay Halle's debt.

Family... He doesn't have a mother, or a father. Not a sister, nor a niece.

Family... But, he'd had a family. A twin, a team mascot, a kid brother. Even a bratty little sister he never stopped fighting with.

Family... it'd always been a touchy subject.

* * *

**March, 76**

Gale had the grave misfortune of meeting Magnilda first. Nero would have been the ideal. Dicey, the less than stellar. Magnilda, though, she was a disaster waiting to unfold.

He'd taken Gale to Two West to learn its infrastructure. As a war hero, he'd been assigned a comfortable job in Two.

Felix had immediately tensed at the chance meeting.

"He's even more rugged in person. Looks like he'll fit right into this hellhole," Magnilda said seductively to Gale after catching sight of them one afternoon in the market.

Gale shifted a bit uncomfortably. It would have been entertaining if it hadn't been so bizarre. "Is she flirting with me?" he asked Felix in a whisper.

The black-haired boy shook his head, surprised by Gale's indirectness, and still slightly on edge, "Not at all. You'd be smart to run."

Her dark eyes held a nasty mischief that reminded him entirely too much of Clove. Which would have been fine, except that Magnilda had always worn her heart on her sleeve. Her attire - which had normally been too bright for his liking - was now one-toned, black. Black jeans, black shirt, black leather boots, even a black headband, and dollop more of a black makeup than she could pull off.

It was like a gritty funeral everyday.

"What? Why?" Gale asked with a frown.

"Because she's dangerous."

Gale looked her over. She was maybe 5'6, 130 pounds, not even worth considering. What could she honestly do that would have someone like Felix concerned? _He_ was scary, but this girl... She was just a kid. "The war's over," was all Gale said. He didn't want to fight anymore. Especially not a little girl - even one trying too hard to look grown up.

Magnilda's lips turned upwards, "I trained for the games, not the war."

"Those are over too."

The self-satisfied expression fell from her face, "Then let's play our own round."

She stalked up to him, assessing him carefully. Gale remained impassive, his discomfort blaring in its obviousness. Finally Felix supplied softly, "Her father worked inside the base. He suffocated as a consequence of the avalanche. She's an orphan now."

"What right do you have to tell him that?" Magnilda demanded, outraged.

Felix glared at her, "Look, Littlest H, The games are over. I'm trying to move on, and you should too."

Gale watched the two curiously, "How exactly do you two know each other?"

"Yeah, rat bastard. Are you advising me as the Cohort 68 side instructor, as my cousin's best man, or Clove's mentor? Just what role are you playing this week?

He crossed his arms. "You know I'm sorry. You know I'll be sorry for the rest of my life, so why do you keep trying to play these mind games? Here's some free advice - it won't bring her back, Magnilda! So why the fuck are you trying to take Clove's place? She's dead. Six feet under, and she doesn't need a replacement. One was bad enough and she'd sooner slit her throat than let you try."

"First of all, my name is Nelly," she shook furiously, the knife he hadn't noticed before clenched firmly in her right hand. Then, she grit out, "and second of all, it's so fucking easy to judge when you have nothing to lose."

But she was wrong. He'd had everything to lose. He'd just realized it a moment too late.

* * *

**April, 76**

He and Gale's friendship (or whatever it was) was particularly enthralling. Gale was always on-edge, always to himself, but he'd begun loosening up. It took him a few weeks to ask what he'd wanted to know from the moment they'd left Magnilda in the market.

"Magnilda was everyone's little pet."

Gale listened intently, "But you don't seem to like her."

Felix shrugged, "Make no mistake, Gale. Everyone in Two is a game-player, even the cute ones."

"She doesn't seem to like you much either, but you can't have been too close - you don't even know her name."

He groaned.

"The year I started high school, I became a training assistant for Magnilda's age group. The day before the training year began, I memorized the entire cohort roster, or at least I tried to." He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head.

Gale arched his brows.

"104 seven and eight-year-olds. Magnilda's name was at the top of my roster and I got antsy, so I sort of just fixated on her name for a while. I didn't know that she had a nickname. You could tell the trainers over and over again, but they didn't care - so it's not like there was any note. I don't do it to piss her off, it's just hard to see her as anything else."

Gale then relayed the reasoning behind his questions. He'd seen her again and tried to apologize for what he'd done to her father. When Felix had given him a stressed laugh, Gale only remarked that he thought she'd understood, maybe even forgave him.

Felix sighed, "It hit us all hard when Cato and Clove died, but her especially so."

And Dicey, but he left that comment out.

"I can tell."

"We were like a family. A dysfunctional, chaotic mess, but we really cared about each other when we weren't trying to strangle and rip out each other's limbs. Magnilda has a cousin - Nero. He was my best friend... til I shot him in the battle of Two. I don't think he's going to come around anytime soon."

His roommate snorted.

The raven-haired man continued, "The soldier that Katniss saved was another one of them. Worst person for her to encounter, actually, so I'm surprised he didn't pull the trigger. Whatever she said must have really gotten to him."

"Catnip's persuasive when it matters."

Gale sounded convinced, so he didn't fight him on the matter.

"We were all fighting for the same thing - to bring justice to Cato and Clove and to break the stasis in our lives - unfortunately, the magic is in interpretation."

"The magic is in interpretation," Gale repeated. His face pondered the thought briefly, "That's probably the smartest thing you've said to date."

Felix laughed.

* * *

**May, 76**

"I came here with the intention of being pissed off."

Magnilda plopped onto the grass in front of the two headstones. Untying a cellophane bag, she pulled out a handful, laying the color-coated chocolate in the outline of a large smiley face on a patch of grass to her left.

"But, today's been such a nice day, and I don't know- I think it's symbolic. That there's more to life than feeling sorry for myself."

The fourteen-year-old girl laid the brightly-colored flowers in front of Clove's grave, announcing, "I fought for you guys to be together, but it wasn't easy. Then again, when was anything ever easy with you two?"

She clasped her hands together.

"Dad wanted you to be with mom," she looked to Cato's headstone, "but your dad, your dad, Cato - he wanted you to be with Mars. I spent so long crying for myself and my own hurts, but watching him made me want to cry all over." Magnilda threw her hands into the air, defeated, "but I felt like you guys spent all your lives together, side by side, and that it wouldn't have been right to keep you apart. So if I ruined your burial plans, sorry, but tough shit."

She blocked the sun with her eyes, pointing hazily to the right. "Mom's over there," and then pointed to the left, "and Mars is somewhere off in that direction."

Magnilda dipped her hand into the bag of candy, eating a handful, and noted, "Felix's home and he's not dead. You win some, you lose some, I guess. He brought home this guy from Twelve, and he's alright. Felix is so obviously trying to turn him into Nero, but I don't know - I think Gale's more of a straight-shooter. He's more of a Cato - if you were twice as angry and half as talented."

A sneaky smile crossed her face.

"Nero's still with Aniston, by the way. I guess it's true love after all, or whatever. I haven't really seen much of Dicey. Wish I could tell you more, because I know he was your guy's favorite, but it's been really awkward between Callan, Halle, and I since you guys left. I can't look them in the face, not after how mean I was to them before the war."

"I haven't been doing too well the last couple years, if you hadn't guessed yet. I'm all alone and for every up there always seems to be a down. Dad's death hit me pretty hard, Lo, but he's with mom now. I hope they're happy together. Sometimes, when I'm really sad, I like to guess what you'd say to me - you'd probably tell me to stop being such a crybaby and grow some balls. Maybe it is time I stop making excuses."

Taking another piece of chocolate, she laughed slightly, "You'd probably throttle me for wasting your candies, Cato. 'Nelle! chocolate is fucking delicious, why are you using them as decoration? All those goddamn ants are going to devour them all!' and then give me a stern talking-to about whatever nonsense would be on your mind."

The brunette laid her head to the ground, leafing through her pockets, "Even though you guys are gone, I know you'll always be by my side..."

She snorted, "That sounds pretty stupid now that I think about it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm living day-to-day and that I know you guys would want me to be doing something more with my life than just being angry all the time."

She withdrew a bow from her pocket, slipping the teal clip into her hair. Magnilda looked to Cato's grave, "I'd brought this for you - you were always into that sentimental bullshit, but I think I'll be keeping this one. Sue me, asshole." She stuck out her tongue, a playful grin lighting up her cheeks.

Magnilda extended her arms outwards and enjoyed the sun cascading across her skin, allowing the breeze to ruffle her hair.

"And I guess I'm not as sad anymore, because I know we'll meet again someday."

* * *

**AN** - This is the end of canon. Well semi-canon, because I let Felix live. I'm not a fan of Mockingjay, but I thought I'd show the ripples Cato and Clove's deaths had.

Anla'shok, I'm so excited that you guessed the soldier correctly because you were my first reviewer and thus presumably the reader whose been reading longest. Dicey's mother, Cato's biological parents (not Sundara), and Felix's parents (until their death in 65) all work/ed for the quarries as miners. To those who guessed Nero, I think that's the most logical conclusion because he's the one who talked about the military most, so kudos to you too.

**Alternate ending begins next chapter, and may end up being longer than five chapters,** because I'm having a hard time dividing up the content cleanly enough. I guess that's good news, right?

Please review - Did anything surprise you? What questions do you have - and what do you think about what happened to Cato and Clove's loved ones after they died? Who is your favorite original character? If you don't have one, then who do you **dislike** most?


	50. The Beginning of the End

Your bones have been my bedframe and your flesh has been my pillow. And I'm waiting for sleep.

- Ani Difranco

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 1/12

* * *

In her last moments, Clove prayed for death to be kind and clamped her eyes shut.

With her hands covering her ears, she barely heard the garbled remark, "-watch your back!"

A spurt of sticky, warm blood hit her face and she screamed out instinctively. This was how she'd meet her bitter end. In a desperate motion, Clove wiped the blood away from her eyes and shook, terrified of what would come next. Forty agonized souls would soon claim sweet justice - their judge, jury, and executioner would forever burn in hell's blazing inferno.

Hesitantly, Clove forced her eyes open just in time to see Twelve retreat back into the forest. It was then that she realized the blood wasn't hers. Well, of course it wasn't. She looked at the her jacket sleeves and gingerly pressed her fingers against her head. Thresh laid on the grass before her, his eyes stony even in death, with a spear lodged directly in his heart.

_The heart is a mere organ to keep you alive._

The blonde withdrew it in a harsh motion and began a barrage of hits on the corpse, lashing out and leaving several gaping holes in the boy from Eleven's back.

Finally, he stopped and viciously spat, "Let that be a warning."

It took her a second to realize he was addressing the cameras and not her.

Clove's confused eyes met his. Her heart would have been pounding with love, affection, admiration, but mostly she was just grateful and overwhelmed.

"Cato-" she began, awe clear in her tone.

He gave her a spiteful look. "Did you not listen to a word I said?" Cato demanded, his voice a few octaves higher than normal, "You go down, I go with you. Your arrogance almost cost us both of our lives!"

At a loss for what to say, Clove remained in her vulnerable position of the floor.

"You're overreacting."

The blonde's eyes narrowed into the slits as he barked, "He was going to kill you!"

Clove held the throwing knife firmly in her hand and defensively mumbled, "I would have been fine."

Cato gave her an incredulous look, crossing his arms and returning to his regular stance. "If you really think that then maybe we should part ways."

"What?"

"Stupidity is dangerous and if you really think that, then I guess I can't afford to have you on my team."

Clove studied him for a moment, before gritting out, "Fine, I'll get my things and go."

He didn't miss the flash of hurt across her face, but every action had a reaction. Cato knew that better than anyone.

He remained at the Cornucopia as she headed north for the lake. As soon as she was out of sight, he retrieved the bag marked 2 and then opened Thresh's. To his displeasure, it wasn't filled with food, and instead held rope. Cato didn't bother trying to figure out the significance, and what Thresh was supposed to have done with it, but his mind strayed to what Clove would have done with it.

Meanwhile, Clove gathered her things from camp and headed into the forest in the same direction as the girl from Twelve had sprinted towards. She could have laughed at the irony - the arena was an compressed area and it'd already managed to replicate her and Cato's entire relationship over the last ten years in the span of two weeks - friendship, trail mix, fighting, running away, lecturing one another, kissing and making up.

She was beginning to wonder if the arena was meant to be more a psychological assessment than an evaluation of their physical capabilities.

A few hours into her journey, she mellowed a bit. Okay, so maybe she'd been a bit presumptuous and irresponsible. Cato had every right to be mad - she would have been too - but to just cut her from his alliance was cruel even for him.

_Please don't be mad. I just got you back.  
_

With a resigned sigh, Clove combed through the forest, brainstorming how to find the other tributes when she thought of the perfect way to get back into Cato's good graces. Honestly, she'd could have created a half-dozen venn diagrams at this point.

It was simple, really. She'd kill Twelve for him. He hated killing, after all. Then she'd let him do the honors of finishing Red and allow him the honor of the very last kill. She hoped this brief respite would help him overcome the haziness he'd suffered from. It didn't take a genius (though Cato was the closest person she knew to one) to see that the arena had not been good to him. Clove made a silent commitment to get him out as soon as possible.

_Don't worry, small fry. It'll be over soon._

As night fell, Clove rested at the base of a tree and tried to warm herself up. A few hours into her sleep, rain descended upon her and she nearly let out a displeased wail. Unlike Cato, the dark-haired girl knew she had thin blood and much less insulation against the cold._  
_

It was almost sad how easily such a small matter broke her. Clove placed her head in her knees and wrapped her arms around the base of her kneecaps.

She almost pitied the tributes from the poor districts. Did they go nights without heat? Even the most decrepit homes in Two West were warm at night - just another consequence of living in the middle of the desert.

A certain sympathy overcame her, but she brushed it away.

Clove reprimanded herself. _You can only save one person at a time._

And she would save Cato a hundred times before anyone else, because he needed her most.

Mentally blocking him from her thoughts, she shifted her thoughts to the various survival techniques they had been taught in strategy courses. Countless wilderness concepts flashed to front of her mind - some more useful than the others - protect yourself from the cold by placing a barrier between you and the ground, pull up your collar and use your breath to stay warm, keep your feet dry. The list went on and on.

These were temporary fixes, though. There was no way to survive using these techniques alone.

Closing her eyes and assuming the form of a ball, Clove returned to sleep.

In the morning, the rain continued to fall and she quickly realized that if she wanted to remain a contender that she'd need to find sustainable shelter and fast. A hollow tree, cave, cove, dome, or dune. Something. Anything.

She wandered rather aimlessly, trying to get into the minds of her competitors. District Twelve was farthest east - who knew how long their tributes could survive in open air - and District Five was situated in the breezy Mid-West. She'd recalled Felix looking especially pale in the mid-districts during his Victory Tour.

Apparently only she and Cato were at an extreme disadvantage. By now, Lover Girl was most likely nursing Bread Boy back to health - probably in more ways than one. That was fine with her. Clove had a lot of tension she needed to exhaust and the two of them would be the perfect canvases. Twelve's girl especially had nice cheek bones, they'd be the perfect place to start. Such a thought cheered her up considerably.

A second bit of mercy appeared as she contemplated torturing Fire Girl as Bread Boy looked on, but she dismissed the idea. For a moment, she felt only a small inkling of the immense agony that would overcome her if she was forced to watch as someone hurt Cato. It'd been bad enough when they'd been just friends and the ten-year-old boy had worked so hard not to cry as she'd attempted to tend to the wounds his parents had inflicted on him.

Clove made a note to make sure Cato's mother suffered a most inglorious end when they returned.

It was rather unfortunate that she was so heads over heels for such an indecisive young man, because even if Cato hated her, even if he didn't want her on his team, Clove hoped he would still at least want to be friends. Losing him was an impossibility she didn't dare contemplate too long. Three weeks and he'd already wormed his way back into her heart.

Hours passed as Clove tried to find the others tributes. Her movements halted at long last when she tripped over some slippery rocks and scuffed up her pants, leaving her not only cold, but dirty. Clove bit back a sob.

This was hopeless.

Something fell over Clove. She looked up weakly towards the sky and realized it wasn't a parachute. No. All the sponsors would go to Cato, because he wasn't a crybaby like she was. She turned around to see a pair of sadly sympathetic blue eyes.

"You didn't really think I'd leave you on your own, did you?"

His voice was soothing, coalescing her like warm tea during a frosty night - even more comforting than the blanket he'd draped over her. He was literally her shelter in the rain.

Broken. She was broken and tired and sad. More humble than she'd ever been in her life, she croaked out, "I hoped not."

Cato pulled a tendril of her hair back and pulled the hood of her jacket further up to cover her face. He rubbed her back comfortingly, a soft apology on the tip of his tongue.

"You scared me. I woke up with no idea where the hell you went and then I heard your screams and I really thought I wasn't going to make it. I really thought it'd be the end of Cato and Clove, and it couldn't end like that. We have so many more adventures left and-"

Clove pulled him towards her and brought his lips to hers. All her fears, pent of frustrations, and confusion were sealed in the declaration of love.

He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and pulled her close, as if afraid to let go.

"Do you still hate me?" she asked loudly, struggling to hear him over the pouring rain.

Cato looked directly at her, staring into her eyes, and made sure she was paying attention. "You really are a bad listener," he replied back equally as loudly.

"I could never hate you, Clove."

* * *

**AN** - Welcome back, Cato and Clove! I've missed you guys. Felix was making me saaaaaaaad. The "I could never hate you" line is a reference to chapter 4, when they were nine and Cato saved Clove from her competitor.

Please, please review - with a cherry on top!


	51. The Poetic Justice

When the light turns green, you go.  
When the light turns red, you stop.  
But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?

- Shel Silverstein

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - Part 2/12

* * *

As he led her back to their camp, Clove chastised herself. She really needed to get her shit together. The cameras were always on, and unless their sack contained a bounty of food, they'd need to prove themselves worthy opponents. She wanted to spit, thinking about how many sponsors the pair from Twelve did or did not have.

She wondered how the crowd back home was taking it - Magnilda, Dicey, Nero, her father, and on and on.

It wouldn't fare well to forget Felix either. He was their lifeline, and although the 17-year-old mentor had come a long, long way from the slick fourteen year old kid who threatened to withhold her sponsors if she didn't comply with his demands, he still had certain expectations. Most of which she'd probably failed to meet long ago. It was an unfortunate end when she trusted him more than her idol, the woman she'd wanted to meet her whole life.

He was probably throwing anything he could find at the screen and muttering under his breath, "_Oh, so now you decided to be vulnerable and cute. Where the fuck was that when I tried to say goodbye, dumb bitch?"_

Clove wiped her face clean on the sleeve of her jacket and looked upwards towards the sky with a smug smirk. It'd be a mistake to count her out yet.

Her lapse of judgement with Thresh had been a one-time incident and one she didn't plan on repeating.

She could just hear the Capitol announcers now - _"How fascinating, Caesar, how the games show the tributes' true colors. It appears that District Two tribute Clove Holloway is nothing without the help of her district partner sixteen year old Cato Elroy."_

And the truth of the matter was that they didn't know a thing.

The blonde brat would have been toast a long time ago if she hadn't stepped into his life. Not that she held it against him. She didn't. They'd fought together side-by-side their entire lives: She'd taught him to throw knives and he'd saved her from plummeting to her immediate death. She'd fed him for years and he'd broken Paxton Watson's arm for making fun of her. She'd tended to him when the trackjackers stung and he'd given her a blanket in the soaking rain.

It was a reciprocal relationship - it always had been - but no one ever seemed to acknowledge her end.

Hello! Why did they think Cato liked her? Despite his 'charm,' he wasn't the most personable individual, and it certainly wasn't for her good looks or social skills.

"What's our game plan?"

His face seemed long, tired, and Clove pushed him down onto the sheets. "Get some rest," she told him. "We'll talk about it in the morning."

The blonde didn't need to be told twice and quickly sought rest. She preferred him this way - when he complied with her demands - because every time he grew concerned for her, he stopped caring about himself and fixated only on her. Which was touching, but also degrading.

Cato didn't wake to change guard. Their last contenders were miles away, probably seeking their own shelter from the rain. Though obstructed by the tent's flimsy cover, she could still hear, feel, breathe the rainfall.

She befriended Dicey in a summer's rain five years earlier. How was he faring watching the back and forth between her and Cato? Was he still scared, still nervous?

Late the next morning, Cato wiped the sleep from his eyes and yawned. "My watch now?"

"It's been daylight for at least five or six hours. We need to start planning. You up to it?"

Clove had asked out of concern, but his glare didn't decompress. She'd just pegged him as weak, lethargic, and the Hunger Games were not the place to play sweet indulgences and butterfly kisses.

Cato shook her shoulder - a slightly sullen expression across his face. "Hey. Pay attention. Your coordination has been dismal and your attention span bleak."

The blonde gave her a look she wasn't particularly fond of and she scowled in return. The last time he'd made such a remark had been when she was fourteen and had been sick with the flu. He'd followed up with the question 'Are you pregnant?' and she'd considered burying herself alive at the time, because she hadn't even thought of the possibility. He'd been discreet and surprisingly supportive, but it'd been a scare she constantly tried to omit from her memory.

Clove looked at him defensively and scowled. "No, Cato. No."

The look of relief that crossed his face perplexed her. Even if she was pregnant, he wouldn't factor into the equation, so why did he care? Besides, it'd been awhile. A long while.

"Then pull yourself together," he snapped softly. Clove glared, absolutely fed up with his tantrums. Throughout their stay in the arena, she'd been the strong one. While he'd gone off the deep end nearly a half-dozen times, she'd been the one dealing with the repercussions.

Clove scoffed. "Fine, then let's hear it."

He assessed her briefly, unsure if she was angry or just acting the part. That was the thing with Clove - you never knew what she'd do next.

Cato shuffled, snatching their bag and opening it wide. "They sent us armor. It's good stuff, and should protect us against most weapons. Bread Boy's knife, Fire Girl's arrows, and whatever Red might have picked up in the forest. We go for Red first and then-"

"No."

"No?" he demanded, irritated.

"You heard me," she snapped. "You had the last kill. I get the next one. We're going after Fire Girl first."

"I had the last kill because I was saving your life!"

Her glare intensified, the knife in her hand shaking unsteadily as she worked to repress the urge to turn him into her latest project. "Salt the wound, why don't you? Someone has a selective memory!"

Cato growled, "Red first and then we can make the star-crossed lovers the memorable conclusion."

Clove humphed in retaliation and both turned away from one another, arms crossed, with matching stubborn expressions. Rain continued to pour down, lightening flashed, followed with a clap of thunder.

"We need to get out of here."

Cato rolled his eyes, "Welcome to five days ago."

Though he couldn't see it, her expression tightened even more. "Fuck you. Sorry I'm not a super genius like you, Blondie."

"I might be the genius, but you're still the smart one," he replied. It was not a compliment. Clove nearly spat at him for his arrogance. If he thought he was such a genius, maybe he was better off alone. Romance was a novelty that she found was wearing quickly.

"Do you remember the blood oath?" Cato asked her suddenly.

Clove's eyes narrowed in confusion, before picking up on the reference. Why now of all times was her referencing the memory? "I remember Fix punching me in the face, crying a lot, Nero, books, and you..."

"Being a coward?" he supplied helpfully.

"Your words. Not mine," Clove muttered.

"We'd eat all the chocolate we wanted, never go without a good book, and make sandcastles on Mondays."

"What?"

"That was my oath to you," Cato clarified, the briefest of smiles on his face.

It'd have been a cute memory if she hadn't buried it under a dozen others: Felix pinning her against the wall, choking her in his anger. Nero and her having a screaming fight one holiday because he'd gotten her father a better gift than she had. Cato breaking her wrist. Cato breaking up with her. Cato crying. once. twice. three times over. Dicey crying after his first kill. Dicey crying after his 124th and 125th kill. Crying and anger and confusion and pain. Always pain.

Life had worn her out so quickly.

"We were stupid kids," she finally replied.

"Nah. We were brilliant kids. We're stupid teenagers. Fighting isn't going to fix anything. We need to be in sync, cohesive, and thorough."

There it was. His boyish smile. The one that always melted her heart. She hadn't forgotten her promise either. She'd get him out before he lost it, and boy was the blonde a ticking fucking time bomb.

Clove won her end of the bargain, with it decided that she'd kill both of Twelve's tributes, and then they'd make a game of who earned the right to Red, hopefully satisfying the Capitol's theatrical needs. Clove's face lit up.

"Don't worry. When I win our bet, the Capitol will hear Red's screams in their dizziest daydreams and worst nightmares."

Cato had to resist kissing her. Did she know how utterly enchanting she was? Any more affection and they'd be signing their own death warrants. Even if he wasn't particularly fond of killing, he couldn't deny the joy that it brought to Clove. She looked sexiest when accepting a challenge.

"Don't disappoint me," he ordered strictly.

Clove cocked an eyebrow at the formality. "Do I ever?"

He laughed at her. "That sexy little smirk of yours is fucking hot, Clove."

She beamed slightly, not allowing the audience to see how much the remark meant to her, "I'm out of your league, hot shot."

"Entirely." Cato agreed.

He didn't know if it was the adrenaline, the relief of knowing Clove was safe, or the fact that they weren't quite out of the clear yet, but he wanted to take her right there. Throw caution to the wind and consummate everything - a thousand kisses and breathy moans. He was ready. He wondered if one day she would be too. They had a lot to talk about first, but not here, and not now.

Working to suppress his hormones, he subconsciously cleaned his sword, and counted their remaining supplies. Clove redid her hair, combing it out of her face. A parachute fell and they pulled the soaked material into the tent, untwisting the capsule. It was certain relief that Athena and Felix approved of their plans.

Their capsule contained steamed rice, some configuration of ground beef, and seasoned sauce. The duo chatted animatedly and scarfed the food down in only minutes. Neither cared that they probably looked like starving slobs. Maybe because at the moment, they were starving slobs. Would it be so bad if they were human? If they were more than just killers? Best friends, a tag team duo, lovers, dreamers, and creators? Would it be so bad if they laughed, cried, and feared?

They'd been sold as a pair of villains - but the Capitol, try as they might, couldn't beat the last bits of humanity out of them. Not yet.

Cato and Clove remained in the tent, waiting for the storm to pass. Finally, in the wake of night, it came to an abrupt end, and a cannon shot into the air. In her sleep, Clove's head shot into the air, but then she heard Cato's voice. It hadn't been him.

"Three guesses," he muttered.

"There's only three contestants left," Clove replied, slightly out of it.

Cato ran a hand through his hair. "Well, then I guess we're all winners."

In the distance, the pair heard a howl. They'd failed. It was a clear message from the Capitol - their respite was over and now it was time to pay the piper.

"That armor you were talking about..." Clove mumbled.

Nervously, Cato pulled out the armor. With such dire circumstances, neither hid under any pretense of modesty. They were undressed and redressed in an instant, fumbling clumsily with their clothes. Both looked at one another.

"We have to get out of here."

"They're drawing us together."

"Fucking fantastic, but when I win, I plan to continue using my legs, my arms, pretty much everything. You want to be the afterhours special - fine with me, but I'm out of here," Clove grit out darkly.

Cato nodded hastily, packing up the last of their things, and jumping up as the animal's howls grew louder. "Peeta, hurry!"

Their eyes met again, with the thrill of the hunt taking only slight precedence over their fear. Both quickly left the confines of the tent, when the girl from Twelve called out once more to her partner.

"The Cornucopia," Clove finally said. The howls grew even louder and the pair from Two made a beeline for the golden figure.

Having their camp at the lake had proven beneficial as they managed to climb atop it only a handful of seconds before their last competitors began to attempt the same thing. Sweat was gliding down the girl from Twelve's face, vulnerability in every fiber of her being.

The girl looked at Clove, a silent plea in her motions as she tried to scale the Cornucopia. Clove finally gave in, pulling the girl atop it, and she wondered if the girl from Twelve realized she'd just made a grave mistake.

A malicious smirk brightened Clove's features instantly. "If you thought that was an act of mercy, then maybe you were better off with the wolves, Twelve."

_Time to play._

Clove quickly pinned the girl from Twelve down, her back arched uncomfortably over her quiver of arrows. The girl from Twelve stretched out her fingers in an attempt to reach for her bow in a last ditch effort to save herself. Clove laughed cruelly as she snatched the weapon and threw it to the wolves.

Clove's eyes flashed coolly towards Cato, commanding, "Grab Lover Boy. He's next."

A sickeningly amused expression appeared on the blonde's face as he wrestled the boy from Twelve. "You escaped me once, Bread Boy. It won't happen twice."

The boy struggled in Cato's grip and Clove shot her partner a threatening glare, "I swear to God if he suffocates before I get my turn at him, Cato, you'll be taking his place."

Cato's grip instantly slackened.

Clove turned back to the girl from Twelve, "At least you can take solace in the fact that your death will provide entertainment for almost four million people around the country. It's all you deserve and more for robbing your sister of the chance for honor. She'll never have such an opportunity ever again, and you know, during our intermission, I thought to myself, 'Fire Girl actually has really nice cheekbones, Clove. It'd be a crime not to share their beauty with the people of Panem.'

Twelve winced at Clove's haunting smile.

"So, I think we'll start there."

Her first incision was precise, clean, and barely a flesh wound. Clove spread the blood with the flat edge of her knife, but glowered as her steady supply of 'paint' dwindled. In a swift motion, she cut even deeper and the girl from Twelve screamed.

"Katniss!" Lover Boy screamed in response.

Delighted, Clove smeared the blood on Twelve's right cheek and then onto the left. Her flesh had sliced so easily, pleasing Clove magnificently. Cato had always used death as a cover, a mask for his pain, but for the sixteen year girl from District Two, to kill had always been an expression of joy, excitement, and artistry. She didn't dare taint such purity with her grief.

Clove continued to the edge of Twelve's mouth. "Your big mouth almost cost me my life," Clove said fondly.

Her expression hardened. "Almost took the breath from my lungs."

Beginning at her victim's forehead, Clove made fifteen horizontal incisions down Twelve's face. The girl from Two could feel Fire Girl's erratic heartbeat. "There's almost one for every day we've been in the arena. Look at you, Fire Girl. You've finally earned your stripes."

Blood from one incision flowed vertically down Twelve's face and into the other wounds. Twelve's eyes fluttered, blood on her lashes as Clove made one last incision directly below Twelve's chin, cutting her throat. "See you in hell, fire girl," Clove sneered.

The cannon boomed instantly.

Cato was struggling with their former ally - the boy from Twelve - who not only wouldn't stop crying, but had also vomited during Clove's performance. Growing frustrated, Cato released him, and then proceeded to punch him in the face. He fell onto the metal and Cato spat, "You made a big fucking mistake helping her."

The blonde pinned down the boy from Twelve, and he screamed out in agony as Cato pulled his right arm from its socket.

Clove crossed her arms - a thin expression of approval on her face. It was about time Cato played the game. "He's all yours," Cato offered politely.

"Don't worry. I'll be sure to reward you handsomely." Clove told him with a flirtatious smile.

Cato's smirk fell into a lopsided grin. She was really something else.

In a single motion, Clove cut Bread Boy's shirt open as he thrashed under her grasp. He moaned, the pain is his right arm unbearable.

Impatient, Clove kneed him in the stomach. The blood from his nose smeared across the crux of her elbow as she pinned him down. With a gentle glide of her fingers across his chest, she decided on her first mark.

She began carving the shape of a 'romantic' heart over the skin that covered his very own heart. He let out a blood curdling scream as the blood oozed down his chest. "It's almost hysterical, Bread Boy. You always were the bleeding heart and now you can prove it."

Clove continued lower, making more and more incisions as Cato slowly realized what she was trying to do. In almost an Adie Fox sort of move, she'd begun to outline his organs - as if creating an anatomical map.

She'd drawn the kidneys, his spleen, and even his intestines before Cato got a little green. How long was she going to draw this out? It didn't help that every glide of her fingers across Twelve's chest left him incredibly uneasy.

Finally, Cato could take no more of her parlor tricks and thrust his sword directly through Twelve's heart. "Consider it an act of mercy," was his only reply to the terrified glint in Twelve's eyes as his sword descended upon him.

"Cato!" Clove snapped, robbed of her rightfully earned prize.

"Were you going to fry him or fuck him?" Cato demanded in return.

She studied him for a moment. He wasn't jealous. He was… scared? Oh fuck. She'd probably been just like _her. _

Clove sighed, and hesitantly raised her right hand to brush the hair out of his face. His nerves soothed a bit at the gentle touch, reminding him she was still in there, right as the second cannon fired into the air.

"We did it," he said faintly, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

She gave him a small smile. "Did you ever have a doubt in your mind?"

Feigning arrogance, he arched his eyebrows, "Not even for a second."

The two waited for Claudius Templesmith to announce their victory, but weren't gifted with such a reward. Instead, several minutes later, his voiced boomed over the loudspeaker.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed."

Cato and Clove broke apart, stunned.

"Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

Neither budged an inch.

Cato thought back his to brother's journal, about how he'd once watched a Capitol movie in which a pair of twins had been allowed to win together. Mars had penned: _They'd never let two people win the Hunger Games, and why should they? To share a victory is the lowest form of cowardice, laziness. To come so far and then fall so low. _

"You can't do that!" Clove yelled at the sky in disbelief.

She'd always fought the inevitable, refused to give up, but right as she was about to offer the Capitol a piece of her mind, the blonde boy threw himself on top of her, a snarl on his face as the world fell into chaos once more.

* * *

**AN** - Reviews last chapter indicate that long-time readers liked vulnerable Clove. Newbies and lurkers did not.

Just wanted to point out that Cato cried when Clove abandoned him in chapter 45. They're sixteen year old kids, who despite living a violent lifestyle, still have wants, hurts, and thoughts just as anyone else does.

Anyways, please review!


	52. The Red Thread

I don't want just words. If that's all you have for me, you'd better go.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 3/12

* * *

Callan Wilder and Magnilda Holloway shared the same dark hair and chocolate brown eyes. Even the same splatter of freckles around their cheeks. It gave them an aura of innocence the two didn't actually possess. In fact, if Dicey didn't know any better, the two of them would seem like siblings. You know, if they hadn't just kissed another with such fervor it'd made his stomach sour.

Romance was not exactly his crux. Both Cato and Clove could attest to the half dozen girls he'd lazily strung along in the last five years, and the very bad end he'd had with the last one.

Dicey was sitting to his sister's left, grinning at Nero, and trying with all his might not to think of what'd happen if Callan knocked up Clove's sister. Then again, Callan was smarter than him, and Magnilda less worldly than Clove. Instead, he grinned at Nero, and remarked, "Those incisions on Twelve's face were fucking clean. You think Clo would teach me how to do that?"

Nero snorted. "Stick to spears, Skin and Bones."

Dicey pouted and continued to wait for the announcement. "You should have gone for the quell, Nero. Then I could tell everyone that all of my friends are victors."

Magnilda gave him a teasing smile, "Does that include Felix?"

Dicey didn't know. He guessed so. Maybe.

He cocked up an eyebrow, "Let's have a prayer circle that Cato and Clove move in right next to him. It'd be the best opportunity for pranks."

"The homes have security codes, Dice," Nero corrected lazily, looking much less strained than he'd been for the last few weeks.

The auburn-haired teen groaned, leaning back.

After several minutes of waiting with matching bored expressions, Halle finally piped up, "It's taking them forever for the hovercrafts to take their bodies from the arena."

"Yeah," Callan quipped grumpily, "And they haven't removed the wolves yet, either. We get it – they're fucking scary. Congratulations."

Nero stared at the TV with unease. A storm was on the horizon.

A mic boomed and the group watched the screen with relief.

"Greetings to the final contestants of the seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The group watched as Cato and Clove separated. Reactions varied across the board from horror to anger to disbelief.

"What rule book?!" Nero yelled at the television.

Quietly, Dicey mumbled, "Make me an avox for all I care. I... I can't be a part of this." He then stumbled out, trying not to let his friends and family see the tears wetting his cheeks.

Nero pulled Magnilda over to him, whispering in gentle hushes, "It'll be over soon." He covered her eyes with his hands and held her shaking form. If Clove... If Clove... The transition from cousin to brother couldn't be that hard, right? The blue-eyed teen tried not to think about it - tried not to think about how much of a better cousin he should have been when he'd had the chance.

"You can't do that!" Clove screamed on the screen.

With her eyes cast upwards, she didn't notice Cato stalking towards her.

She grimaced under his hold and looked into his crazed eyes. Maybe it wasn't worth it - winning with him - if he was going to be under the steroid's effects for rest of his life. Patience simply wasn't a virtue she'd been bestowed with.

Cato threw the first hit, while Clove only gazed on in wonder._ Think fast, Clove Holloway._

His eyes narrowed as the blonde grit out, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Clove rolled her eyes, which would have been funny when considering her disdain for the mechanism, but it only served to irritate him more. "Nothing. Isn't that much obvious?" she pant out. He could tell she wanted to wipe at her nose, but he refused her the opportunity.

"Fight back."

The dark-haired girl turned, withholding eye contact.

"Fight back," he repeated, shifting the weight of his knee onto her. She didn't cry out, but the discomfort was apparent enough.

Clove took a heavy breath, shut her eyes, and swiftly elbowed him. He released her and she withdrew in an instant. _Finally._

He growled and pulled the sword from his jacket with a nasty glint. "You're out of choices, cutes," Cato sneered with a sick laugh. "Now, you're going to fight fair and we'll see who deserves to live."

The dark-haired girl didn't know whether to be disappointed, or to admire Cato's behavior. He was terrified, that much she could attest to - but the audience probably didn't have a clue. She nearly barked a laugh in reply to his challenge. Neither of them deserved to live, but either way, the final choice came down to her, not him.

"We're playing by my rules now, Cato." Clove's tone was void of cruelty, only observance of a simple fact. "Now, let's see what you can do."

"I will not fight like a coward!" Cato barked at her.

There it was. The glimmer of fear.

"Too late for that one. That side tackle was real dignified. I'll remember that one in the pits of hell."

He stormed up to her, the sword in his hand gleaming magnificently. It was beautiful, one of the Capitol's best works, really. He snatched her by the ends of her pony tail and dragged her to him with a malicious jeer, "You will fight or-."

Clove scowled and swat his hand away. "Don't touch my hair. Cheap shots don't suit you."

Felix had told her time and time again that it was a weakness, but small sacrifices were worth allowing _her_ memory to live on. Magnilda's hair had never gone much past her shoulders, but Clove's hair had always been her small vanity.

"Stop being a coward and give the audience what they want, Clove."

She didn't know why she was willing to do this for him. He was a cowardly lion, a man of the people, with many thoughts but little action. Clove redirected his sword towards her throat, one of the only patches of skin uncovered by the armor, and coldly commanded, "Go on, then."

Cato didn't move his sword from the edge of her throat. "That's what you'd like. For me to win dishonorably, to rob me of my last victory."

She shook her head, exasperated. "We've spent our whole lives destroying one another and it needs to end. You break my wrist. I throw rocks. I won't do it anymore."

"Do what?"

"Hurt you."

And then the screen flashed black.

* * *

Clove's eyes met Cato's as she stated.

"I didn't think you thought so lowly of me," he scoffed.

"I don't honestly care."

"Clove-"

"I won't resist," she told him quietly, trying to console the man before her.

She was serious, and every sin he'd ever committed against her amassed in his chest.

"Don't do this," he half-pleaded.

Clove averted her eyes. "My parents have been good to me. Magnilda is safe. I've never gone to bed hungry, or been plagued constantly by terrors in the night. I-"

"Stop it!" Cato demanded. His resolve had long shaken and though she didn't dare look him in the eye, she knew he was barely holding himself together, "Making me look weak won't make you any stronger!"

"Promise not to forget me."

"Stop it."

"I'm ready."

"I said to stop!"

"And I'm glad we were friends." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she quickly pulled at the blade of his sword, about to impale herself on the weapon.

_But, what are you willing to do to win, Cato? Are you willing to sacrifice your pride, heart, even your dignity for the sake of dead man?_

Cato swayed it in the opposite direction at the last second and cut his hand as it rebounded.

_I understand now, Mars_, he thought to himself. The other tributes, Thresh, Everdeen, Bread Boy, even Clove, they weren't his enemies. After all the years of cheering for the best tributes, some from other districts, he realized too late that these games were no match for glory. They were purely degradation of the human condition. Even when he did return, the Capitol wouldn't care about him. It was how he performed, not who he was, that enticed them. He could be anyone.

He dropped the sword onto the edge of the Cornucopia and knelt down beside Clove, only murmuring, "I know you've read enough books to know that heroes don't just give up, Clovey."

She only laughed a fragmented laugh. Was this the time for literary analogies? Really? "Cato, we're the villains."

The blonde laughed a little too. "But we could be more."

Her eyes looked back to his, recalling her end-all goal. Any semblance of sweetness vanished as she sneered, "I'm a fucking disgrace, alright? I've only mocked my district's efforts, wasted their resources, and now you must clear me of my sins."

Cato pulled her into his shaking arms.

It was hard to be brave when his light had so quickly burnt out. That was the problem with making the tiny wreck his source of strength - killing her and borrowing her courage were difficult tasks to perform at the same time. He needed her, but Cato Elroy wasn't about to die.

He'd made a promise, and this time he'd keep it.

It was hard to think of what to do. Clove had said he was genius, but he seemed to hit roadblocks at every new development. _Think!_

The Capitol wouldn't let them win, but what if they escaped? Unearthed the ground until they found refuge? They could do it. Together, he and Clove could do anything.

Gently, but determinately he remarked, "I love you. Trust me."

Love was stupid. Love was for children, and puppies, and cute things. Love wasn't enough.

And just as she was about to tell him as much, he dragged her towards the Cornucopia's edge. The predatory wolves remained. "On my count we jump."

"One." Not standing up to Felix when it counted.

"Two." Being too stubborn to ask for Dicey's forgiveness.

"Three." Pushing Clove away when he needed her most.

It'd be different this time. He'd be brave.

"No! Cato, that's a bad... ideaaa!"

Clove landed roughly on her feet, looking around for only a moment. There was nowhere to go. _Oh, love, you are so, so... stupid! _He was going to get the both of them killed, and then her sacrifice would be in vain.

It was unbearably warm for such a temperate climate. Sure, she could climb trees, but where do you hide when you're 6'2 and 185 pounds? Being small had its advantages, and right now they needed all the advantages they could get.

His eyes lit up and before she knew it, they'd been immersed halfway in a cool body of water. Love was stupid. Cato was stupid!

"We can't swim, you idiot!"

"Well, that wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't-"

The water swirled ominously around them and Cato looked at Clove uncomfortably. "Hold tight."

Quickly, the sky darkened and the waves began to swirl out of control in a counter-clockwise motion, drawing them in. In only seconds, Cato lost his iron grip on Clove's hand. His body began to drift violently towards the center of the developing whirlpool. He extended his arm towards her, the fear in his eyes terrifying her as he drifted farther and farther away from her.

"Cato," she screeched, trying to swim towards him.

"Clove!" he called out in return. She could almost breath his desperation.

Clove tried to glue her feet to the ground, but the current of the water refused to oblige her. "Cato!" she screamed as the whirlpool drew her in.

The blonde was violently submerged under water, before emerging again. Though it was difficult for him to look directly at her with the water splashing about, the boy worked to train his eyes on hers, "I'm sorry. I thought..." His thought was broken as he was pushed under, reemerging a second time out of breath.

Cato's thoughts shifted as he screamed out as he was pulled farther and farther from the girl, "Don't give up, Clove!"

_Don't give up. Don't... give... up!_

Everything became hazy... and then the two fell into a chasm with no end.

* * *

"These idiots don't know how to swim!"

"Two West ain't exactly District Four."

"What the fuck are they teaching you kids out in the boonies?"

"Everything they can with everything they have."

"Well at least my tribute is self-aware. These two are an absolute disgrace."

"These two are the best this district has had in years. Went a fucking decade between Almoy's victory and mine. If you know anyone better, you should have sent them here, so then I wouldn't have to watch as one of my friends die!"

"So which of them is better, Mr. 73?"

"How the hell should I know! I wasn't in the regular practice of drowning my friends. I'm not a goddamn medium."

"No, because if you were, you would have known better! Encouraging them to play the romance angle? Since when do we take heed from a slummy outline and their starving street rats?"

_I was a street rat, and if hadn't been, I would have been starving. And sometimes you go hard or you go home._

* * *

She was sinking, falling further and further into a black hole, a void.

_Will you be there when I get home, mama?_

Her hands swiftly covered her heart. The stars were magnificent, just a touch out of reach, and she had all the time in the world to work her way there.

* * *

Decades, hours, weeks, months passed in the span of seconds. Darkness was a lonely companion.

_Where am I? _

The chasm defied mathematics, common sense, empirical virtue. The universe was infinite, but here he was safe.

And then daylight bloomed.

* * *

Felix forced himself into the seat, the bags under his eyes sunk in. "Day seven, let's get this bullshit under way."

"This whole day to day update is a waste of time, but if you found out that I was keeping anything from you, you'd tear out my esophagus and probably eat it for breakfast."

The dark haired teen watched the small girl with an ache in his chest.

"It's always been me, you, and hospitals. You think I'd be used to it by now. I've seen you in hospital beds so many times. Hell, I used to have a habit of putting you in them too."

He moved the hair out of Clove's eyes and sighed.

"Not that you're immune to unhealthy life choices either. You have this bad habit of getting yourself hurt, and you like to play it off tough, but I know something thrills you about being the hero. Heroes are dumb, H. I've never known a good person who's lived - cept maybe Nero, and he's barely good. Like the faint outline of what someone good might act like."

Resting his palms on his knee, he resisted the urge to swallow the glass of water on her night table whole.

"No one know what's going on. They cut the feed after you refused to fight, and I'm pretty sure everyone's gone mad from the lack of information. I would have. Definitely. It's the first time I've been glad I'm here, and not home."

With a throaty cough, he leaned his head against Clove's stomach as he had years ago. "I wish I could have done more. I should have... because now here you are. Dead, but undead. Not quite there, but getting closer and closer to the edge."

He rubbed the back of her hand and held tight, before letting go reluctantly. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, anymore. Sorry, Little H."

Felix stood up and headed for the door when he saw a slight flutter of lashes.

He blinked, and mumbled, "I'm seeing things..."

Then a hacking cough emerged from her throat and he stalked right back to her, ready to call for the nearest Capitol nurse, "Breath, Clove. Breathe."

He didn't know why he was saying this when he knew she couldn't hear a word he said... or so he thought.

"So you do-" she coughed. "Know my," another cough, "my name."

Her hazel eyes fluttered open. Her face an unhealthy red from the hacking coughs.

A wide smile spread on his face, a rather jarring experience for the girl who so rarely saw Felix smile. "If anyone could do this..." He laughed to the point of tears, "If anyone could do this, it'd be you."

"What day is it?" she whispered hoarsely.

"June 29th or 30th, something like that. I haven't exactly been keeping track." He scratched the back of his head.

She bit her lip. "When did they bury him?"

Felix looked at her wearily, letting out air, "Say you're flying in a hovercraft between West and East, and it comes crashing down into ungodly flames. Where do you bury the survivors?"

Clove indulged him for maybe the second or third time in her life, and unhelpfully supplied, "Two South."

Felix snorted, frowning, "What kind of sick fuck are you?"

"What?"

"You don't bury the survivors, H," he said, shaking his head sarcastically, and moving out of the way.

An unholy squeal came from her mouth, as she started sobbing. Resting peacefully against the wall was a sleeping Cato Elroy, with all limbs in tact, including his fully-functional lungs.

The raven-haired teen ruffled her hair, "You guys did good."

Blinking tears out of her eyes, "Oh God. Oh..."

"Cato, wake the fuck up," Felix kicked Cato's sitting figure slightly, "I'm going to eat, and you need to keep H company."

"When did you get here?"

"Holloway and I had our daily update."

Cato yawned. "You're weird. That supposed to be something new?"

"Six years and counting, actually," Clove piped up, a smile in her voice. "Although, with how much Fix talks, it's more like six years every update."

Felix gave her an annoyed expression, "I can't believe I wanted you to wake up. You were more fun comatose."

Clove looked at him, and instead of scowling as he expected, she just started to laugh, and soon Felix joined in. The air cleared.

Breaking out of his stupor, Cato pushed Felix away with a scowl, and took the seat beside Clove's bed. "I should have known," he murmured lovingly.

"Known what?" she asked.

He grinned at the memory of a six-year-old Clove standing with her hands on her hips, and demanding:

_Don't count me out yet._

He'd never make that mistake again.

* * *

They'd been crowned and sent home on a train towards Two. Felix chatted animatedly and Athena only watched from the window impatiently.

If these kids thought this was the end of their endeavors...

Side by side with a blanket covering them, the girl leaned onto the blonde's shoulder and he chastely kissed her forehead.

Calling them stupid didn't seem fit anymore. How many times could you use the word without it losing meaning? Whatever. It wasn't her problem anymore. At least, that's what the thirty-eight year old woman tried to tell herself when she looked towards the dark-haired girl.

The train came to a stop and they ushered the children off the platform, when a madman pushed through the audience, using choice words to hush the dissent. Cato only softly remarked, "Dad?"

He came forward and the man took him into his arms, petting his hair, and working not to cry. "Thank God. My son... Thank God."

Since when did his father believe in God? Since when did he believe in anything at all? If he had any dignity left, he'd have pushed the man away, but...

"Welcome home, Cato. Welcome home."

Clove stood with unease, ready to pounce at any given moment, when Cato shook his head and held onto the man with all his might.

"We're leaving for Golden Valley now," Athena announced, looking bored in contrast to Felix's blaring discomfort.

His father smiled, "Go. I'll check in on you soon."

Cato's eyes narrowed with confusion, "You're not coming?"

"It's yours, boy. If you need my company, I'm only an auto commute away."

He nodded faintly, trying to hide the disappointment, before being pulled away by Felix and shoved into the black limousine.

As they left the mountains of Two North, Clove made a silent promise to return. Hike them and look down upon the lines of her district. She'd have all the time in the world, and she wouldn't settle until she explored every inch.

Soon they traveled south-bound along the dividing lines of West and East. It seemed impossible that only two months ago she'd been there to watch Cato vie for a tribute spot.

As the gate to Victor's Village opened, Cato observed the homes with awe. They were more impressive than he could have ever imagined, and as he leaned back with a slight grin, what he saw only left a pit in his stomach.

A dirty-blonde woman in her twenties in nothing but a white sleeping gown covered in nasty bruises, gashes, and a hollow look in her eyes as she checked her mail. Though she was not a victor, she was recognizable in even such a state. He'd seen her before on tv - the wife of the 63rd victor.

A feeling of dread descended upon him. Even Victor's Village was not immune. For all the things it was, a safe haven, apparently, it was not.

* * *

**AN - **If you're confused, don't worry. This chapter is unclear on purpose. More details will be explained in the next two chapters.

The [lack of] feedback last chapter was pretty disheartening. I don't have a quota or anything, but motivation is hard to summon when you're not getting any communication from readers.

Please review. - Did anything surprise you? What did you think of Cato and Clove's fight, and what do you hope to see as they begin their new life?


	53. The Man Without Words

Either you run the day or the day runs you.

- Jim Rohn

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 4/12

* * *

The automobile came to a stop near the end of the street. The driver looked out, and pointed to the third house from the end. "This is the residence of the male victor."

A moment later, the driver pointed to the house to the left once again, the second house from the end of street.

"The female victor's home is adjacent to yours," he addressed Cato.

Cato and Clove smirked. They were neighbors - just like they'd always wanted.

"What's wrong with him?" Clove whispered, looking to an utterly put-out Felix. He was leaning against the right passenger window in a deep sleep. The bags under his eyes had yet to ease.

Athena's lips pursed in spiteful amusement as she pointed out of the opposite window towards the right side of the street. "He's overworked himself, but luckily for you he lives riiight over there."

"Directly across the street from me?" Clove complained.

"And who's across the street from me?" Cato asked, staring at a rather ominous house beside Felix's.

The redhead's smirk only widened, "The infamous 52nd victor himself."

Clove's annoyed expression quickly transformed to one of utter glee as she poked him.

"Drey Holland," Cato and Clove said together.

There were old folktales that if you said his name three times, he'd appear in your room, yank out your intestines, and suffocate you with em.

The driver exited the front door and pulled open the back door, as the three exited the vehicle, he called, "Master Grey, you've arrived in Golden Valley."

Felix rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "I told you not to call me that. Just Felix, alright? I'm seventeen, not seventy-five."

Hesitantly, Felix stepped out and stretched his arms. Athena led them towards Cato's new home. Impressive would have been Cato's short description for the house, but words such as elegant, structured, classic, and refined also came to mind.

Once the door opened, Athena stepped back and Felix pushed Cato and Clove in front of him.

"Welcome home!" a chorus of cheerful voices called out.

"Clove!" Magnilda ran out from the kitchen and into her older sister, wrapping her arms around her. She smiled at her elder sister, "I told them you could do it! I told them."

The dark-haired girl's lit up with a faint smile as she hugged her sister back. "Least you believe in me."

Magnilda beamed, and then cheekily added, "But did you have to kill Datum? He was actually really cute, Lo."

Clove looked to Cato. Magnilda could thank him for that.

The group heard a sarcastic cough and then Cato was assaulted by a small, round object.

"What the fuck?" he questioned, nursing the red spot on his chest where the ball had made impact.

"So you can win the Hunger Games, but you can't catch a baseball? Good to know you learned absolutely nothing useful in candidacy traning.

Cato snorted. Humor lit his face. "Nice welcome back, Dice."

The redhead appeared, looking thinner and as if he'd been through his own hunger games. He grabbed at Cato's neck, and scuffed up his hair. "Welcome back? You mean you left?"

"Uh, yeah, I did. Went to this thing called the Hunger Games. Maybe you've heard of it."

Dicey's eyes shifted to the left, "Can't say I know what you're talking about, and really what use do I have for a guy who can't even catch?"

The blonde grinned slightly, pursing his lips into a sarcastic kiss face. "Did you miiiiss me?"

Dicey started to laugh, and gave them a serious look. "Two of you idiots ever pull this shit again, you'll become closely acquainted with the end of my spear."

Clove gave him a perverted grin, "Oh, will I?"

The three stared at one another, before breaking into hysterical laughter. Dicey pulled Clove into his arms. _She's Clove Holloway. She can do anything._

A stocky, middle-aged man with green eyes and medium brown hair pat Clove on the back, and she whispered something to him, which led to matching smirks from the duo.

Cato recognized him more as Nero's uncle than Clove's father. The resemblance was eerie.

"So I might have been imagining things…" Magnilda began innocently, "but I thought I heard you say during the games that you were sorry for breaking up with Clove – which means at some point you were with Clove…"

Great, just what he wanted, to field questions from a nosy twelve year old kid. As Cato opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted.

"Nero," the middle-aged man called.

"Yes, sir?" Nero replied, leaving the kitchen and shooting Cato and Clove a thumb's up.

"Since I'm apparently too fucking old to keep up with the times - Twiddledee is Clove's boyfriend?" Lieutant Holloway gestured to Cato. "I thought Twiddle Never Shut the Fuck Up was Clove's boyfriend."

A deeply amused grin overcame Nero. The mischief in his face was something he'd inherited from spending a little too much time with Felix.

"Uh, no, sir. Twiddle Never Shut the Fuck Up is a cross between their play thing and team mascot. Cato, however... Well how did it go?" Nero scratched his neck, "Cato makes Clove's heart skip a beat when she sees him read or teaching Nelly how to fight."

The blue eyed teen looked to Dicey, "Is that right?"

"Close enough," the auburn-haired teen responded lazily.

Lieutenant Holloway snorted, "Is that slang for he's good in bed, Clove, because really - 'makes your heart skip a beat'? Any more one liners like that and hopefully it'll stop beating all together."

Cato and Dicey gaped at one another.

"What's with the stupid looks?" the man asked.

Dicey smiled a crooked smile, "You look just like Nero, but you sound exactly like Clove. It's really funny to watch, man."

"As articulate as that statement was, Twiddle Never Shut the Fuck Up. It's like sixth grade biology. Just because you look like an idiot doesn't mean you have to act like one. Smarten up, kid."

Dicey opened his mouth, before Cato dragged him away to discuss several unsettled matters. Leaving the rest of the party goers behind, Cato smirked, letting out a sigh of relief.

The redhead tackled him into a hug which Cato returned, "You did it."

The blonde didn't know how to thank him, how to tell him how many times thinking of him and what he'd have done during training and the games had helped to keep a level head, and didn't know how to tell him he understood what he'd gone through watching the games, how he'd gone through the same thing when Mars had died.

So instead, he only said, "I did it."

Before adding quietly, "But something tells me this is only the beginning."

* * *

"How many times can you two screw this up? The story is simple, and really-"

"It's not easy," Cato disagreed.

Athena's green eyes narrowed, "Well, that's too bad, because it's do or die. You're lucky the Capitol was benevolent enough to allow you both to live."

Cato tried to wipe the sleepiness from his eyes, "And why did they let us both live?"

He'd been asking since they'd both been ushered to their interview with Caesar Flickerman. Athena had refused him an answer then, but now she only spat, "Because it spites the lower districts."

Cato didn't know how he felt about that.

He'd never given a shit about what the other districts thought.

Athena combed her hands through her red hair, "You weren't the only ones scammed out of a happy ending. Audiences both in the Capitol and throughout the districts were dying for a storybook ending from the pair from District Twelve. What better to quell a rebellion than to douse all hopes. _Yeah, you got your dual winners, but they weren't the ones you wanted, were they?_"

"So we're a symbol."

The blonde arched his brows. "We're going to spend the rest of lives being the people who stopped the 'starcrossed lovers of District Twelve' from going home together. That'll be a fucking wonderful story for our kids."

Clove shot up, giving him a dirty look.

"You can blame this on Rue Malcom. Her precious little friendship with Twelve and everything that happened after her death nearly instigated something dire. You two changed that. Disheartened hearts are disengaged leaders, and that's enough to quell the desire to act out. You are everything District Twelve could have been, but failed to be."

Cato scowled, "So they never planned to kill us."

After he and Clove had fallen into the chasm, he'd been the first to wake. Three days passed in which he'd mourned her death, and then he'd caught Felix tending to her comatose body.

Rage filled at the reminder of the rat bastard keeping her from him, to have let him think for even a second Clove was dead when she wasn't. Felix had lectured him, saying she wouldn't last long, but as normal, she'd proven them wrong.

He eyed the ragged novel on the coffee table. When he'd awoken after the games, Felix had said that prior to leaving for the arena that Clove had given him the novel and demanded that he return it to Cato upon his victory.

She'd wanted to be first person to contribute to his victor's talent, and Cato had nearly given up on hope then.

Athena shrugged, "Maybe they found a better idea along the way."

But this only increased his dissatisfaction. He needed to know more!

"So how are they playing this, because it sure as hell isn't accurate to Cato and I's true relationship."

The redheaded woman nodded, "Right, because talk is cheap and romance is dead, Clove. You're meant to replace Twelve with something else entirely. Forget star-crossed lovers, you're lethal soldiers willing to do anything and everything to protect your protectors."

'Protecting their protectors' was a common military phrase. Clove's father might have spit it out about a dozen times a day when he was around, but to hear it from someone else seemed metallic.

Clove tried to process the information as best she could, but found it difficult. Something seemed off. "But they're playing it under the guise that all I said to Cato was just an act and that he doesn't mean anything to me."

"And that every word out of Clove's mouth after Twelve died was only to screw with my head," Cato agreed, dissatisfied.

Athena's smirk widened as she explained, "Suddenly the roles are reversed. She's the sexually-intimidating mass murderer and you're sarcastic, but sweet. We've come full circle."

Clove's matching smirk left a sense of unease in Cato's stomach, "And then what?"

"The two of you were so evenly matched that only God – or the Capitol could pry your hands from the other's throat, and they did so because you two have something they can't resist."

Audiences had been told that Cato and Clove had torn one another apart so gruesomely that the reason it'd taken so long for them to do their post-interview was because it'd taken seven days for the Capitol doctors to put them back together.

It would have been cool if it'd been true, but that Capitol's only rationalization for their victory was that it was better to have two victors than half of one.

When Caesar had made the joke during their victor's interview, the delirious capitolites had actually had the audacity to laugh at that.

"And what's that?" Cato asked, barely following.

"Unfathomable energy and an assortment of skills they can't wait to get their hands on."

The dark-haired girl pulled at her strands, sweetly, "Maybe we do get lucky twice. We both survived, and didn't even have to sacrifice our dignity to do so."

But Cato wasn't so sure about that.

* * *

Sneaking into Two West without running into Nero, Dicey, Magnilda, Callan, Halle, Clove's aunt, Cato's mother, father, or step-mother wasn't the easiest of tasks. They'd found it particularly difficult as they were constantly bombarded by small children asking for autographs.

The only problem was neither they nor the children had any paper. So Cato and Clove had signed nearly two dozen kid's hands, shoulders, and arms. They'd been propositioned for other spots, but had declined.

Their efforts to avoid the family and friends had all been for nothing, too.  
Pittman Quarry's administrative assistant and liaison was none other than Aniston Wagner – Nero's fiancé. They might as well have paraded around with a neon sign.

When they'd tried to explain their plan to her, the strawberry blonde only turned her head to the side with a confused expression and given a small laugh. Her laughter reminded Cato of a swaying wind chime.

"Isn't this a lot of effort just to ensure that Indra Wilder's family is financially secure? Why not just donate solely to her?"

Aniston had offered them a cup of tea, which both declined. She rubbed her hands together and pulled a file out of her drawer as Clove took her turn responding.

"Because Dicey is dumb, but he isn't that dumb."

"I don't know," Aniston said with a light smile, "He seems pretty clueless to me. When the two of you came out dressed as gladiators, he asked Nero if the Capitol thought you were gold miners."

Cato sighed. The pretense of kindness in those without an ounce of kindness had always irritated him. "So he's not the most cultured kid, but if he realizes his family is suddenly richer than all of the other miners, he's going to try to return the money, and we don't want it. Dicey needs money but he won't accept charity. This is our only option."

The phrase 'we don't need it' went unspoken.

Aniston looked as if she had more questions, but she only made a brief note.

"So, we'll use this funding to raise the standard of living for all the miners. I'll make an exception for your mother, though-"

"Give her the increase, too."

The wavy-haired blonde pulled a strand behind her ear and watched him curiously,

"Does she need it? Your homes are so nice and I'm sure you're taking good-"

Cato didn't have the time to wonder why she cared where his money went.

"Look, Country Bumpkin, less questions and more action."

Clove looked to Cato for a moment, "We have more money than we know what to do with."

"Acts of random kindness aren't a bad thing, you know. You're giving eight dozen families the chance at saving for the future – for their children's future. You should be proud. I'm just trying to develop the mechanics without getting caught."

Leaning against the wall, Clove only asked, "Can you do it or not?"

Aniston smiled cheerfully, "Course I can. You know, Clove, you and Nero are more alike than you think."

Cato barked a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand.

Clove flushed with anger, "That's not funny, Cato!"

"So how much money are we talking about?" Aniston asked with a small grin as she entered data into her computer.

Cato stopped himself from laughing and shrugged, "What's a miner's salary?"

She wrote a roundabout number on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to him.

Clove shot Aniston a dirty look, "You're joking, right?"

"It's menial labor."

"Whatever," Clove scoffed, the disgust not leaving her face. She crossed her arms.

"Triple it."

Aniston eyes fluttered and she stuttered, "Wasn't the goal not to draw attention amongst yourselves?"

"Call it a holiday bonus."

"What holiday?"

"I don't know," Cato retorted. "Figure it out on your own. Are we done here?"

With a sigh, Aniston typed a few more figures into the computer. "I'll figure it out, but you two better go home, and don't get caught, because there'll be hell to pay if my father finds out what I'm doing."

"Don't tell Nero," Clove replied as she pulled Cato out of the quarry office.

"And open myself to a slew of entirely different problems? Yeah, right." Aniston replied, and gave them a half-hearted wave as she typed furiously into her computer as if trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle.

* * *

With a few days to spare until Magnilda and Lieutenant Holloway moved their belongings to their new home, the two teenagers had been left to their own misgivings.

One of the first things they learned is that they didn't enjoy living alone as much as they'd thought they would.

However, there were some benefits...

"Alone at last," Cato teased.

A dirty grin lit up Clove's face as she pulled off Cato's t-shirt, and kissed him roughly.

Cato ran his hands through her hair and held her face close as he kissed her back.

He eyed her shirt expectantly with an aggressive smirk. Clove tried to bury her nerves as Cato tore her shirt open in a swift, rough motion. The blonde's smirk, if even possible, widened. He was never going to get tired of the contours of Clove's body.

Cato grabbed her breasts, only obstructed by her undergarments, and kissed her once again.

His kisses trailed down her neck and towards her stomach. She trembled underneath him, earning her a cocky grin from the blonde.

Clove didn't move, which only seemed to bother him, when he had always imagined the idea of dominating such a spitfire an adrenaline rush.

"Liven up, Clove."

She nodded slightly and began to kiss his chest, leading upwards. Then, she broke the skin right below his collarbone with her teeth and sucked at it, leaving a nasty welt.

It was a beautiful mark, but everything was beautiful on a canvas like Cato.

Clove repeated the action, which resulted in a stilted moan.

"Clove… Clove…"

Everything was hazy, as if she was below the surface, and his words were garbled by streaming water.

"Clove…"

The dark-haired continued on her eighth or ninth love bite – it was all so routine, a repetitive motion, from one bite to the next.

"Clove!" he screamed.

Her eyes constricted, fluttering slightly. She looked up at Cato, who was shaking slightly. Clove pulled back, confused. He looked... violated.

The stricken look on his face was all she needed to break her stupor. His chest was covered in bruising, red welts and his eyes were darting from spot to spot. What had she done to him?

Horrified, she removed herself from him and ran down the stairs, with Cato calling behind. "Wait, Clove!"

She slammed the door behind her, her blouse torn in half, and her cheeks flushed a scarlet red.

"Little H?"

"Son of a bitch!" she snapped, looking at the sky in defeat. Her eyes watered slightly, and she covered her mouth with the palm of her hands.

Felix hesitated, before pulling off his hooded jacket and placing it over her head and pulling it down.

_District Two – West Region School #91, Class of 74._

Hot. It was hot and claustrophobic, and why the hell was he wearing a jacket in July?

"Piece of advice, H. Stop letting Cato do this to you."

She was barely able to comprehend everything around her. "Where did you do get this?" Clove asked, trying to distract herself.

"Nero picked it up for me. I even got an honorary diploma and everything. Cool, right?"

That's one word for it, Clove thought.

Felix gave her an easy grin, and for a moment, she could see the youthfulness in his smile. He'd always worn such a mean look and been especially vindictive that to see him so casual was unnerving, "Make sure to wash it before you return it."

She nodded faintly, not even thinking to ask what he was doing out on the street at one in the morning on a Tuesday. But Clove knew what she was doing next - fleeing Victor's Village until it was time for her family to move in.

Maybe five days was enough to find out a better way to say, 'Sorry I almost fucked you without regard to your feelings or desires. Hope everything is going well!'

Run. Right now, all she could was run.

* * *

Triad 1 – middle-aged woman. Triad 2 – middle-aged man. Triad 3 – Young woman.

"All three parties are present. You may now speak, Mr. Grey."

"Felix. Just Felix, mam." He bowed his head politely. "I have requested this conference to address the matters concerning Cato Elroy."

"And Clove Holloway," the second of the triad members added from his left-hand screen.

"Her, too. Of course."

Felix ran a hand through his hair, "Sir, madams, as you have certainly ascertained by now, Cato and Clove's exemption from the rules was highly inordinate."

"Don't beat around the bush, boy. What happened?"

As the only male of the group, the second member of triad seemed to be most direct. Or at least, he was supposed to be, until he heard the third member speak.

"As was normal for kids from Two West, Cato or Clove weren't trained to swim. There's no bodies of water, and the annex failed to secure enough funding for a synthetic version."

The third member of the triad arched an expectant brow, giving him an annoyed expression, "Why is this important?"

Green eyes narrowed impatiently as the second member scowled, "Let the boy speak."

"It's important because Cato Elroy and Clove Holloway did not engage in combat as the Capitol is claiming they did. Clove refused to fight, and Cato couldn't bring himself to attack an unwilling opponent."

The second member of the triad coughed, "To have done so would have been dishonorable."

The raven-haired teen nodded, "Precisely."

"So, what did transpire?" the first member of the triad asked.

Felix sighed, "They ran."

The third member snorted, "Where?"

"Into the lake"

"Your tributes seem to have as good decision-making skills as you do," the third member snapped through grit teeth.

Felix smirked slightly, "And they still won."

"Look, kid-" she growled.

"The Capitol tried to wash them out by enveloping them into a whirlpool and thinking that whoever survived would be the worthier of the two, but what they found surprised them."

"And that is..." the first member inquired.

"That Cato and Clove care more about each other than themselves, and that loyalty is something they can use. Something they can exploit for their own gains."

The third of the triad members snorted derisively, "The Capitol doesn't care about loyalty. They don't live in some inane paramilitary state like-"

"Watch it."  
"Do not discuss what you don't know."

Felix was grateful that the first and second triad members were long accustomed to the culture of Two.

She folded her elbows, "You two are sticks in the mud if I ever saw one."

The first of the triad looked at Felix pointedly, "Continue."

"Better to satiate both and ensure their loyalty than to provoke the undying vengeance of the sole survivor. Two loyal survivors are better than none."

The first member of triad pursed her lips, "I'm interested in your theories. We will explore them at a further date. Good night."

Her feed cut out, leaving only the second and third member of the triad. The third member of triad rolled her eyes and said shortly, "You better have a plan."

After her feed cut out and only the second triad member remained, he looked at the man square in the eyes. "I will give it my all."

"That would be wise."

"Good night, sir. I look forward to speaking with you later this week."

"One more thing, Felix."

"Yes, sir?"

"Happy birthday."

Felix's lips quirked slightly.

* * *

"You still haven't explained why you came home, Clove."

"Yes, I did. I have a lot of important things to take to the new house, and I don't want your grimy fingerprints all over my stuff."

Magnilda huffed, "If you were going to come home anyway, then why didn't you come home for my birthday?"

Clove shrugged, "I had things to do."

_Like ruin my relationship with Cato. _

"Are you guys going to get married?"

Clove's eyebrows knit in confusion, "Where in the world did you get an awful idea like that?"

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Magnilda demanded. Sometimes Clove forgot how old her sister was, but she'd be reminded soon after.

"Do you even live on this planet? How the hell are you third in your class with such extensive brain damage?"

Magnilda threw a pillow at her for such a comment and remarked, "You and Cato are meant to be."

Clove had fled one hell to another, but at least this way she'd have the opportunity to visit with the rest of the boys while she was home. In a matter of three days, though, she'd be back in Victor's Village with her father and sister and running would become a much more arduous task.

He was never going to forgive her – she'd crossed the insuperable line.

She'd failed. Had become a carbon copy of his mother, and taken advantage of him, and there was only so much she could do before she descended into madness.

* * *

Cato peered out of the window. Though Clove had returned a few weeks earlier, neither had gathered the nerve to speak with another, and now August was upon them.

"This place is something else. Congratulations, Cato."

Cato gestured for his father to sit, and waited with unease for the impending requests. Instead, he extended his own offer. He'd do this on his own terms. "You'd be better able to explore if you moved in."

His father snorted, "Subtly was never your strong point."

"Well, can you blame me? I live all alone in this big home with nothing to do all day."

Mr. Elroy leaned back, "So find something productive to do, son. You're smart enough to come to that conclusion on your own, so what are you waiting for?"

Cato studied him, "But there's nothing to do. I live in a region with 18 other people, most of which are either old or missing a few too many screws."

"If you're ever that desperate, you can care for your brother while Sunni and I work," his father teased.

It took only seconds for the guilt to settle in. He'd forgotten about Oliver. "Does he hate me?" Cato asked softly.

"He's four years old. He's not capable of hating anyone yet."

Cato wasn't so sure about that. He'd resented his parents throughout his early life and the feelings he harbored only grew stronger as he aged enough to understand what they'd done to him.

His father took a sip from his glass, "While I've come to enjoy your company, I also have news I wanted to deliver face to face."

Before Cato had enough time to contemplate what the news could be, his father remarked, "How would you feel about a sister?"

Which was code for 'you're going to have a little sister.'

The blonde teen's first reaction had been jealously, but he suppressed his thoughts and only politely remarked, "Congratulations, dad."

"She'll arrive by the year's end. You know as well anyone else that I've never been superstitious, but when we discovered that Sunni was pregnant, I couldn't stop thinking about your older brother… How I lost one son and then gained another, and while I'd never wish anything on Oliver, it hurt the same. So no matter what you think of me, just know that I'm forever grateful that you're safe."

Cato snorted, "You worry too much."

"Yes, because you've always been the type to think first and act later, right?"

The smile on his father's face was 100% Mars'. Admittedly, Cato looked much more like his father, but he'd always had his mother's temper and high expectations. He shuddered slightly. On the contrary, Mars had looked like his mother and acted like his father.

For a moment Cato wondered how Mars would have reacted to a baby brother and baby sister. Mars liked kids, enjoyed poking humor at things, and making fun of himself. He would have spoiled Oliver rotten with attention, and by the time their little sister would have been born, he'd have probably found a way to have his own kids. If not through genetics, then something else.

He let out a heavy breath, "I thought about Mars a lot in the games."

Mr. Elroy nodded, trying to assuage his son's guilt. "He'd have wanted you to come back anyway you could. Mars was a smart young man, Cato, but he wasn't perfect. You have to stop idealizing him. He had as many flaws as anyone else."

Five years hadn't been enough to chip away at the pain. Cato wondered if recklessness was inheritable.

Suddenly, Mars words seemed impossibly significant. _Don't be so blatant in your disregard._

He owed it to Clove to try to make the relationship work. He owed it to her to at least talk about what had happened. It'd all been so fast, and then...

There were so many people he owed, but first and foremost were bonds he'd broken right before he left for the games.

"Do you think I could come by and see Oliver?"

His father gave him a half-smile, a tired smile, "I think he'd like that."

* * *

Felix leaned back, allowing the wind to ruffle his hair. He closed his eyes, the sunglasses protecting him from harm's way.

"You're much more handsome without that nasty glare on your face."

"You're much more tolerable when you don't talk," Felix shot back, not bothering to open his eyes as Aniston drove the two towards Two East.

Aniston stretched her arms, "Hey, I might not be your favorite person, but-"

"Top my list of least favorite, actually," he corrected.

The blue-eyed girl tried not to snap at the boy before her. He might have been a pain in the ass, but he was still dangerous and easily provoked. She was willing to do anything to survive until her wedding day, and that meant not inciting her own death wish.

"As I was saying, I might not be your favorite person, but I love Nero enough to respect his wishes."

Felix rolled his eyes, "He said we had to hang out, not that we had to become gal pals."

"The concept of having friends terrifies you, doesn't it?" Aniston inquired softly.

"Stop dilly-dallying and just drive, woman."

She sighed, "I'm not a bad friend to have, Felix."

"Who needs friends? I've got all the money and time in the world."

"You must lead such an empty life."

Taking the bait once more, Felix snapped, "Easy to say when you're born with a silver spoon in your mouth."

Aniston let out a tired sigh. She pulled the car into the space, and shut it off. "This is the place."

Felix's eyes widened as he took in the structure before him, "This is…"

"Cool, right?" Aniston smiled slightly.

Sullenly, Felix scoffed, "It'll do."

As they entered the steel structure, Felix perused the home and garden section. "Ever thought of planting some flowers?"

He skimmed through the variety of blooming plants, "Most of this wouldn't survive in West. Climate's all wrong."

"You live in Golden Valley."

Felix corrected himself, "Right. Well, if that's what you want..." Appease Nero's bride, and get himself a free trip to Two East. What was there to lose?

Aniston headed towards the manufacturing section, bubbling with enthusiasm, and the raven-haired teen followed her lead. She clapped her hands in delight. "I've been looking for one of these for months. Two East has everything!"

Felix didn't bother to mention it had a majority of the district's wealth too. Money was such a tired conversation.

"A wrench wench, huh?"

"You say it like it's a bad thing."

"Does Nero know?"

Aniston pursed her lips, "That's a good question… Hmm. We'll have to find out."

"Look, boys! If it isn't the cheating, dishonorable scum... You dare kill your own district partner in cold blood and show your face here?"

Oh yeah… there was a reason he avoided Two East. Cinder had lived there and he'd hit her over the head with his war hammer when she'd tried to suffocate him in his sleep.  
The chubby middle-aged man stood in a black muscle tee. His sunglasses glowed in the fluorescents.

Felix froze, and his companion watched him with confusion. What the hell was he doing?

Aniston gulped, and walked up to man with a precocious smile, "It's the Hunger Games, sir…" Her voice suddenly grew louder, "And if you're such a Neanderthal that you think that there's any other way to win, then you're in the wrong section and shouldn't be operating dangerous machinery!"

There. Aniston could be brave too.

The loudest of men scowled, getting uncomfortably close to the petite blonde. "What the fuck are you going to do about it?"

She turned up her nose arrogantly and looked away.

A small part of Felix wanted to say 'nothing' and snatch the blonde girl away before she got herself into any more trouble, but a larger part wanted to see what she'd do. She'd always been such a wimp that to watch her stand up for herself was fascinating.

"What do you think?" she gave the man an intimidating glare. Well, at least, it would have been intimidating if her stance hadn't been all wrong and she wasn't dressed so prissily.

Ten seconds of a side sweep assessment were all the men would need to call Aniston out on her bluff.

"An, let's go." Felix called.

The eighteen year old girl didn't move, so with a harder edge, Felix repeated with a growl, "Now!"

After the two left the shop, he grabbed her shoulders, "What the hell was that?"

"The Felix Grey I know doesn't take other people's shit!"

To watch the spoiled belle use such perverse words would have amused him if it didn't remind him of how far he'd fallen. Six months ago, he'd terrified her, and now she was defending him? Dear lord.

He threw his hands in the air with an exasperated groan, "The Felix Grey you know met you when he was fifteen. We're eighteen now! Do I look like I want to be shot by some bastard peacekeeper?"

Aniston glared at him. "Nero sent me here to get to know you, and all I've learned is that you never stand up for yourself when it matters. I'm not a threat to you, never have been, but those men disrespected you, and you walked out like a scolded dog!"

"As usual, the Wagner family is full of unwarranted advice."

She gave him a strange look, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Felix replied in a monotone, "The prime of life is the worst place to be because it's the highest point from which to fall."

A look of unease fell upon Aniston. She recognized the words and was unable to assume a poker face fast enough.

"How do you know my father, Felix?" she asked softly.

"My parents died in your fucking quarries when I was eight, and your dad, great guy, he looked at me and recited the same line and told me to come back for a job when I was eighteen. So excuse me if I'm not a fan of the Pittman family."

She closed her eyes, picking at ideas, before opening her eyes. "From the bottom of my heart, I apologize on behalf of my father… and I know it's not enough, but I hope one day you'll forgive him."

_From the bottom of your heart? _

"Save it."

"But that's why you hate me so much… right?"

He snorted, "Part of it."

"Then what could I have possibly done?" Aniston asked, looking hurt.

"Does it matter?" he asked, crossing his arms with a groan.

"Kinda, yeah!"

Felix tied at his shoes, looking away. "You took Nero from me. He was my friend first, and now he's your fiancé, and one day you guys are going to have a fuckload of kids and he'll have even less time to hang around. I want more for Nero than to be a teenage dad, because in case you haven't noticed, he's more and more like his dad every day."

A twinkle appeared in Aniston's eyes, "When you won the games, he almost cried from relief. You're important to him – in ways I'll never live up to."

"Whatever. This place was a dud, so you better take me somewhere better if we plan to get started on the garden today."

Aniston's smile widened, "Alright, but you're paying for lunch."

"Scam artist."

"Gesundheit," she said cheekily.

* * *

Magnilda raced to the door, shouting, "I'll get it!"

Who'd stop by next? Enobaria Jamison, or maybe Wyatt Almoy! She couldn't wait to tell her friends about all the victors she'd met in the last few weeks. They were going to be so jealous!

She opened the door, sighing, "Hi, Cato."

"What? You still haven't forgiven me, Nelle? I brought you a present."

That brightened her demeanor and she smiled brightly, "Really? What!"

He withdrew a familiar teal bow from his pocket, "Thanks for letting me borrow it. It meant more than you could know."

She let out a disappointed, "Oh."

Cato arched his brows, "If you really want something else, I can get it for you, but that bow is worth way more than any gold the Capitol could supply me."

That brought a smile to her face and she wrapped her arms around him, "I'm glad you're home."

Maybe he wouldn't be a bad brother to his new sister. He had plenty of practice, after all.

The blonde pet her hair gently and returned her hug, "Does that mean we're friends again?"

"Maybe… how about we become friends after you tell me why Loey is avoiding you."

He smirked at her mischievous grin, "I'll tell you after me and Clove settle our differences. Is she home?"

Magnilda nodded, pointing towards the staircase, and returning to the grandiose living room. He ascended the stairs, walking down a long hallway that stretched endlessly. He wasn't sure which of the dozen rooms were Clove's, so he gently prodded each one open.

Cato snorted. She'd picked the last door on the left, as far away from everyone as she could.

"Clovey?" he asked.

"Clove's not home. Leave a message," she replied coolly from behind the door.

It was now or never. He gently pushed the door open to find Clove prying an old set of paints open. Lying on a makeshift easel was a faint sketch of Kailani, her eyes gazing towards the lake where they'd camped out during the games.

He sat next to her. "I'm sorry I screwed everything up. I shouldn't have-"

Clove shook slightly.

"… I shouldn't have been so harsh on you. Got lost in my own head, and couldn't separate fact from fiction."

She turned to him, a tearful expression of spite in her eyes. "Why are you apologizing? Did you apologize to _her _too?"

The blonde scratched the back of his neck, "Who?"

"Are you going to make me say it out loud?" She grit, "Fine. I acted just like your mom, and I hope that you weren't apologizing to her too!"

Cato laughed darkly, "No offense, but you don't have the ambition. You've never been able to follow through on anything, Clove. Don't overestimate yourself."

An irrational flicker of envy flashed across Clove's face.

"I'm not made of glass, alright? It wasn't the hickeys. I was just worried because you tuned out entirely and wouldn't listen to anything I said. What if we hurt each other, Clove? If you can't say it yet, I will. I'm not ready. I… Wish I could get it over with, but it's going to take me time. Sorry..."

The dark-haired girl's eyes narrowed, "Stop apologizing."

He chuckled.

Clove pulled her knee towards her chest. "I wish we could start it all over. I'm tired of everything being so complicated."

He leaned back against the wall, peering into Clove's bedroom, which she'd successfully managed to throw into utter chaos in only several weeks.

She jumped up, "Wait, that's it!"

Cato blinked, afraid to admit he hadn't been listening.

"Cato Elroy, will you do me the honors of being my boyfriend?"

Clove was rewarded with a heart-capturing smile as he laughed, "If that's what you want, then nothing would make me happier."

She grinned, wrapping her arms around him, "This is going to be great."

"With you it's bound to be."

She beamed, "And we'll go slower this time. I've been waiting two years. I can wait a few more."

The blonde smirked. He hoped it wouldn't take quite that long, but he'd wait as long as it took for everything to settle into place.

"I'm a damn good cook, blondie. I'll be the best girlfriend you ever had."

He shrugged, "First girlfriend I've ever had."

Cato smiled to himself, _and hopefully the last. _

* * *

Clove woke up in mid-August to an empty home. Magnilda was off to her third week of eighth grade. Their father was most likely on his way to the military base.

It was days like this that Clove missed living around the corner from Dicey. Not that it mattered, he was in school too. For the last several weeks, Cato had been missing in action and she didn't have a clue where he'd been running off to. She'd knock relentlessly on his door, never to be answered, and had given up on finding out where he'd been off to.

On this morning in particular, she woke up to a pot of pasta on the stove, and a messy note. 'Nelle says this pot is better than my last attempt."

She snorted, taking a bite. Her face soured and she blanched. Magnilda was far too generous.

"Oh, Cato."

Clove laid on the couch and watched a mindless Capitol special, analyzing the 72nd Hunger Games. Johanna Mason had won that year, surprising them all. Although, in retrospect, they could have picked up on the subtleties if they'd paid better attention.

Snapping the television off, Clove dropped the remote and pulled on a pair of slippers, and closed the gate to her home.

It took her a minute to gather her nerve.

How desperate could she get to be considering actually asking…. Walking across the street, the dark-haired girl keyed in the five letter security code. A grin lit up her face. She'd guessed right on her first try.

Clove walked past the gate to Felix's home, and opened the door to his home. Curiously, she toured around the lower level of his home, before ascending the stairs to seek her only companion in the forsaken village.

Most of the dozen bedrooms had been left wide open, and used only for storage. A single door towards the edge of the stairs was closed, and Clove hesitantly opened it. The bright green paint blinded her for a moment before she adjusted to the room.

It'd been decorated with plush toys, interior artistry, and been fitted with a children's bed. It didn't take her long to realize she'd just intruded on something not meant for other's eyes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Felix's voice made her blood run cold. The ice in his inflection was nerve-wracking, reminding her of the days she'd once feared him. It'd been years and years ago. She'd grown accustomed to his threats…

She'd been caught red-handed.

"I came looking for you," she tried to sound brave, knowing that she was failing in that endeavor.

He crossed his arms and barked out "What do you want?"

Clove didn't want to ask now, "I-"

"What is so important that you had to break into my house and snoop through all my things? Well? Get on with it, Holloway!"

She swallowed. "Cato's been busy lately and I was thinking it'd be good for me to get away for a little while… so can I come with you on your next trip to the Capitol?"

Felix's eyes turned to slits and he pulled her out of the green room, pushing her towards the stairs. "It's bad enough I live across the fucking street from you. I won't let you ruin my vacations, too. Now get the fuck out of my house before I do something I regret!"

And she swore she heard him shake.

* * *

Felix had lied in bed for days unmoving. His garden awaited his efforts, pleaded for his attention, but he'd been neglecting the patch of land in favor of rest. He could always return to it when Aniston came by, which he admitted to himself he wouldn't hate.

Today was the day.

Clove still had his fucking jacket, he thought with a grumble. He wanted it back. He _needed_ it back.

It didn't help that Raul, his own mentor and the only adult he ever turned to for advice, had been tuning out on him lately. A few weeks earlier, he'd lamented that the neighbors had kept him and his girlfriend up at night with their domestic disputes. Felix had waited a few days to solve that puzzle on his own, until he saw exactly as to what his mentor had been speaking of.

Seraphina Almoy, the 63rd victor's wife was worse for the wear to be put lightly. When he'd seen the Almoy's only child, a three year old girl with rosy cheeks dusted with scratches, and marks around her throat, he'd felt a nagging sense of obligation.

At first, he'd avoided that side of the street all together. It'd been rather easy. He lived on the northeast end of Victor's Village, while the Almoy family resided on the southwestern end near the entrance.

It'd grown more difficult as his curiosity grew insatiable.

Finally, he'd asked Mrs. Almoy about the marks, and she only avoided his eyes and ignored his comments. A suffer in silence technique; Brave, but stupid.

It took him a few days to earn an answer.

He repeated the questions and she only rasped, "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Try me," he challenged.

"Ever been in love?"

Felix shook his head.

"Money's a good thing to have. It buys you nice things, like diamond rings, and sapphire rings, and all the rubies and emeralds you could want. Wyatt knows how much I like pretty things."

If that was supposed to be a complaint, Felix didn't dignify it with a response.

She looked up to the sky with a look of yearning. "He must have given me two dozen rings in the last six years. Not that I could tell you. I had a bad habit of losing them, or so I used to think."

Felix's temper had flared, and then he felt like punching her. _Get to the point._

"Wyatt liked giving me nice things, but I think he liked hurting me more when I lost them. Happened more than enough times. I was beginning to think I had memory problems, that I should get help. I'm only 25, and I've misplaced more than you could imagine…"

Tears streaked down her cheek as she stumbled on her words, laughing a little. "One day, he comes out with a necklace full of rings. Every ring I'd ever lost, and threw it right in my face. Laughed and said I meant nothing to him. That I was a good fuck, and good for his image, but that I was his for the rest of his lifetime and a thousand eternities in hell afterwards."

_Great, I'm living among demons._

Gullibility had never been a trait of Felix's, but he couldn't help but to feel entirely too small for this situation. Help. He needed help.

Before he could think of the right thing to say, the words left his mouth in a rush, "You need to get out. Let me help you."

She shook her head at his desperate please. "Yeah, because moving out of one murderer's house to another seems like a great idea for a young mother."

His chest felt heavy. For the first time in his life, intimidation hadn't been to his advantage. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Not that it really matters, because I couldn't leave Wyatt. He'd find me, and kill us both."

And then he'd been presented with a challenge, and all of a sudden, Felix dug himself deeper. If he could win the hunger games, he could do anything! "I didn't win by accident, and if you come live with me, I'll keep you and your little girl safe. I promise."

_What the hell are you doing? _He scolded himself.

She looked at him skeptically, "Brooke is my priority."

Felix nodded, "Then she's mine too."

_The right thing; He was doing the right thing for once. _

* * *

**AN**- Points of clarification: Cato saw Mrs. Almoy at the end of the last chapter (bruised woman in a white dress). The Capitol cut off the feed to the games after Clove said she wouldn't hurt Cato. The Capitol told the audiences that Cato and Clove were just trying to mess with each others heads and ended up hurting each other so badly that they didn't know who'd survive, so they saved them both.

Where do you think Cato's been running off to?

**No reviews = no new chapter.  
**

This story gets way too many views for the lack of feedback. Tell me what you like, don't like, questions, and anything else. I'm not picky, but I am fully-employed (working 56 hours a week) and exhausted. Writing isn't always easy, and I don't think I'm asking for much, really.


	54. The Horizon

I always wonder why birds choose to stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere, then I ask myself the same question.

– Harun Yahya

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 5/12

* * *

He hated this house. It was a symbol of everything he'd lost.

"Mr. Felix, mommy is crying a lot," the young blonde girl tugged on his sleeve.

Felix wiped the sleep from his eyes and withdrew from the blankets. That's what he got for telling Brooke to wake him up if even a pin dropped, "Okay. Thanks, Roe."

She looked at him strangely and popped her lips curiously. "Who's Roe?"

He studied Brooke and blinked. She didn't look a thing like Roe. What the hell had he been thinking? "You can stay here and watch tv if you want. Make sure you don't bother Vega. He bites."

He gestured to the rabbit habitat in the left hand corner of his room, where the brown haired creature was sleeping.

"Kay!" she said happily and nestled into his blankets. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

Leaving the room, Felix filled a glass with water, and chugged it instantly. He looked longingly at the water supply and contemplated a second glass, before grabbing a mug and heating a canister of water over the stove. At least the appliances in his house were quick. He'd be thankful for that.

Felix walked towards the young woman in his living room slowly, trying to decide what approach to take. She was watching some old, romantic film. "Are you alright?"

"This was our wedding song," she choked out, not bothering to look at him. Despite her usual direct nature, she seemed awfully small now, and before he could think of anything to say, she whispered, "Maybe I should go home."

Despite his heart pounding a million miles an hour, Felix only said softly, "Please don't. I… I care about you and don't want you to get hurt."

Hesitantly, he put a gentle hand on her back. "I really will try to help make this place as good a home I can."

She breathed hard, and said quietly, "You're a good kid, but Wyatt needs me. He can change."

"Maybe for a minute, but he won't change forever. If he could, he would have done so already."

Seraphina lifted her head, wiping at her nose. "I'm trapping you here."

Felix sat on the edge of the couch, "And yet I've never felt so free."

The admission embarrassed him, but it was true. _I am redeemable. I am. _

He stood up, pouring warm water into the mug and stirring in some cocoa he'd yet to use.

"Cocoa might help you feel better," he told Seraphina as he sat next to her. He draped a blanket over her back.

It'd been a difficult adjustment having to tend to permanent house guests, but it'd been a strange release of tension. He was tired of being alone. "I shouldn't have accused you of having ulterior motives," she said after a sip of the warm beverage.

He had had ulterior motives, though – just not as sinister as she'd first thought.

"I'd have been worried if you hadn't."

"As grateful as I am, I can't stay locked in this house forever. In a few years, Brooke will start school and-"

"I know," Felix cut her off sharply. "I'm working on finding you somewhere safe to go. Just give me a little while longer."

She conceded, and he left to check on Brooke. To his great displeasure, she was no longer in his bed.

_Great work, Felix. She says her kid is her top priority and what do you do? Lose her. Great work. _

One by one, he searched each room for the three year old. Then, he heard a rustle from the room at the head of the stairs.

His stomach knotted as he opened the door. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the green walls surrounded by building blocks was three year old Brooke. She giggled as the blocks tumbled down.

When she heard his footsteps, she gasped. "I didn't mean to break the rules… I'll be good."

Not that anger had been one his top five responses anyways, but that only made his stomach knot in a different way.

How many times had he imagined hearing his niece's shrieks of laughter coming from the room? How many times had he sat against the wall and just cried and cried? He'd built this room for her, for her to grow, and to be happy, and when they'd died he'd turned it into a psychological torture chest.

He bent down to her level. "You've been very good, Brooke. I'm not mad."

"Okay," she said softly.

"You think maybe you'd like to stay in here?"

"Really?"

The stars in her eyes made the offer worth it. "Those toys have been in here a while now, and it's about time someone got some mileage out of them."

"Thanks Mr. Felix!" she said with a wide smile.

Felix let out a breath. The pain didn't dull, but there was stirring of hope too. Trust was a minute to minute matter, and he was always on guard. There was still much to do before he left for the Capitol, and favors he didn't have that needed to be called in.

* * *

He loved this house. It was a symbol of everything he'd overcome.

"Not interested."

"You didn't let me explain, Cato," Felix snapped.

"I don't care." The blonde shot back. "I'm not interested in being part of whatever project you have going on this week. If I wanted to adopt a stray, I'd go to the pound."

Felix's eyes narrowed into slits and his fists shook. "Watch what you say."

Clove watched the two with interest. So far, Felix wasn't selling the 'Please watch the abused wife/daughter while I party in the Capitol' very well. As much as Felix and Cato bugged one another, they'd always gotten along fairly well. They'd been friends for so long they'd built up a pretty good tolerance. Felix and Dicey, less so.

Felix folded his arms, ready to smash Cato in the face, and deal with the consequences later when Clove finally piped up. "I'll do it."

"What?" Cato demanded.  
"What?" Felix asked.

She gave him a warning glance. "No tricks, Felix."

He shook his head instantly and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "None, I promise." Felix turned to Cato with a dirty look, "You're a dick. I can't believe I actually cared whether you lived or died. Have fun eating out of your own ass."

"Laying it on a little thick, Fix."

He said nothing, before harshly slamming the door to Cato's house.

Cato gave Clove an exasperated look. "Why did you do that?"

"Because once upon a time I knew a little boy whose parents hurt him and I would have done anything to save him, so now I am."

"Felix needs to mind his own business and let Mr. and Mrs. Almoy keep their private lives private."

The sixteen year old girl walked away, not even justifying Cato's incredibly dense remark with a proper response. "Save it, Cato. I've made up my mind."

"This is a bad idea," he emphasized, gesturing with his hands.

"Don't you ever get tired of being the bad guy?"

Cato looked torn at such a question. "You can't save everyone."

"Then I'll start with one," she said offhandedly.

"Whatever, Clove." He scoffed, picking up his bag and carrying it away. She closed her eyes, and grimaced. She was so tired of fighting with him.

The sound of heavy objects bombarding the tile forced her eyes open. If that wasn't symbolic, she didn't know what was. He'd had the same duffel since they first met and it'd somehow survived through over a decade of wear and tear.

Clove walked over to him and began helping him collect his things off the floor. "It was about time for that thing to retire anyway."

Cato unwillingly smiled.

"Trigonometry, The Senior Experience, and Anatomy?" Clove asked as she picked up different textbooks. "What are you doing with this stuff?"

He looked away and brusquely shot, "Nothing."

Then the gears turned in her head and snapped into place instantly, "You've been at school. The whole time you were gone and I thought-"

"What? Thought I was cheating? Thought I leading a double life? I'm not that interesting, Clove."

"No," she glared. "I thought you might have decided to go exploring the district. Why would you feel the need to hide something like this?"

Cato's expression change to one of shame. "I needed to buy time and school's the only thing I'm good at anymore," he said quietly.

She didn't bother to explain that assertion was crap, only asking, "Buy time for what exactly?"

He sat on the ground, leaning in on his knees. "I like school, alright? It's safe."

"Cato, buy time for what?" she repeated.

The blonde stood up and walked towards the kitchen, before returning with an opened envelope. He handed it to Clove. As Clove perused the print, she began shaking with fury.

_Darling, it's been two months, and I've grown concerned for your well-being. A seventeen year old boy shouldn't be living on his own. There are simply too many things that could go wrong. As such, I'm giving you another six weeks to make the arrangements, or I'll be meeting with someone who can better convey my message to you. And sweetheart, don't forget that there are things you may want to keep between just us. _

_- Delilah Evans _

"Kill her."

"I can't just kill her."

"Then I'll kill her," Clove sniped.

"She gave me my life. I owe her that much."

Clove took a deep breath and seethed, "And she spent a lot of time making sure it was a miserable one at that."

He kissed the crown of her head and brought her into his arms. "Doesn't matter, because I've had you at my side the whole time."

"What are we going to do?"

The hopelessness in her voice wore him down. He'd hoped she'd know what to do. She laced her fingers in his.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

Clove leaned against him, her breath tickling his neck. "How much I love you."

Her answer was too quick, too sharp to be entirely truthful, but his face still lit up.

Clove wrapped her arms around his neck. She was going to keep him safe _no matter what._

* * *

Despite Two West being impossibly warm and prone to early days, Clove couldn't help but to be happy to be home. The unpaved roads, cacti, and chirping birds were brilliant in their understatement.

When she rung the doorbell, she heard a yell, and then the door swung open. Callan stretched his arms, yawning, and grumbled "Thank God" before staring at Clove. "You coming in?" he asked.

At Clove's amused look, he explained, "We'll finally be able to send Dicey's fuck buddy home so I can get some sleep."

"Colorful language, Cal."

Callan let out a huff, "Discretion is not in Dicey's dictionary."

"You'd be less jealous if you had any sex," Clove snorted.

Callan raised his eyebrows. "Sex screws everything up. I'd rather be happy."

Of course Magnilda had found the only fifteen year old in the entire region who'd rather abstain from sex. The nice thing about Callan, Clove thought, was that he had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so she believed him on principle. In fact, all the Wilders were like that. Fourteen year old Halle especially. Which is while she found her friendship with Magnilda so disarming.

"Sex doesn't screw everything up if you're having it with the right person. Dicey just prefers a variety pack," She brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Not that I'm giving you permission or anything."

His lips quirked up slightly as he called to Dicey and returned with an amused grin. "Want some cereal?"

"Free breakfast? Maybe I came to see the wrong Wilder."

Callan shrugged with a light smirk, "I'm top of the line."

"Top of the line pain in the ass," Dicey groaned sleepily as he exited the bedroom the brothers shared in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts. He wrapped his arms around Clove, letting her absorb some of his body heat. The auburn-haired teen clutched her tightly to his chest.

While certainly more affectionate than maybe Felix or Nero, Dicey seemed a bit more eh... than usual. "You're being weird."

"I missed your grouchy ass," he said simply.

"And yet you never come see me."

He pulled the bangs out of his eyes and looked to Callan, "You making me breakfast, too?"

Callan pulled another bowl from the cupboard and pulled out a separate cereal for the redhead. Dicey's latest 'conquest' left the bedroom with all of her belongings in tow. Clove couldn't help wonder how the boy with so little charisma was able to bed so many girls completely out of his league.

The girl smiled at the trio. "Great Games, Clove. Congratulations on winning. See you later, Dicey."

He gave a half-hearted wave, "Later."

The girl exited, closing the door behind her. Clove snorted, "Your sex life is hysterical."

"You're just jealous."

Clove conceded that point, "Don't rub it in, Red."

The two sat on the couch watching some senseless Sunday morning kid's show and eating their cereal - Dicey's a rather bland mix and Clove's a touch sweeter - in synonymous loudness. After finishing breakfast, Dicey stood up, "I'm going to get dressed before I'm devoured by the street's bored housewives."

"You're an idiot."

Dicey smiled at her.

When he returned, she pulled him onto the couch. "We need to talk."

"That's not a good look," Dicey said, on edge.

"I need to tell you something about Cato and his mom and I don't-"

Dicey put his hand in a stop motion, anger written across his face, and grit out, "He told me."

A certain relief washed over Clove that was soon replaced with a new nervousness. "She's threatening to tell the media what happened if Cato doesn't let her into Victor's Village and I don't know what to do. I promised Cato not to kill her-"

"I didn't," Dicey said seriously.

"Maybe it's time we have a discourse with Ms. Evans."

"It'd only be polite," Dicey agreed. "I say it's time to meet the family."

* * *

Cato let out a hacking cough as he dragged himself downstairs. Whoever was banging on his alarm at five in the morning was going to get a sword through the gut. He let out a string of expletives, before unlocking the front door.

A tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed man stood before him.

"Dad?" he asked, shivering slightly. Fuck Golden Valley's irregular weather patterns.

Mr. Elroy pushed him through the front door, shaking his head in exasperation. "You're worse than they said."

He let out another cough, "Who said?"

"Wagner's daughter. Said you were dying from the flu."

_Great. Ruining my life even when you're not around, Country Bumpkin. Fucking Felix is toast. _

"Okay-" Cato coughed harder. "What are you-" he coughed again, "here for?"

His father led him upstairs and gestured for Cato to get into the sheets. Once underneath the blankets, his father tucked him in. "What's wrong?" he repeated to his father.

"You're sick, Cato."

"And-" Cato coughed, "You have work."

Mr. Elroy pulled a chair from Cato's desk and sat at his bedside. "I took a sick day."

The teen nestled into the sheets, "You're not sick. Are you?"

"No, but you are."

"I'm seventeen. I can take care of myself," Cato said in a delirious exhaustion.

His father scoffed, "Well, it's a good thing you have a father so you don't have to. Now, try to sleep. I'm going to see what I can scrounge from your kitchen."

Cato didn't have the energy to argue, only shivering into the sheets.

Minutes, hours, maybe even seconds passed when his father returned. He placed a cup of ice water to Cato's lips and leaned it back. In a moment, Cato started sputtering. "Easy, easy, Cato."

His father rubbed his hair gently and placed a damp cloth on his forehead."I need to get ready for school."

"You need to give yourself a break and stop worrying so much about school. Especially since most of the worries are probably in your crazy little head."

"I have to graduate."

"Yeah, and the boy with a perfect grade point average will be curtailed in that effort."

For a moment, Cato stagnated, before hoarsely whispering, "What's in it for you?"

Mr. Elroy tried to let the remark fly over his head, but it still stung. So he said forcefully, "I get to be deserving of this second chance. Losing my firstborn was hard enough, and I may have been too cowardly of a man to be a better father to you before you left, but I won't make the same mistake."

Tiredly, Cato only mumbled, "Okay."

His father continued to make him as comfortable as he could. Running around to find him more blankets, more comfortable pillows, soups he could prepare, and other necessities for taking care of a sick child. There was a deep-seeded regret when realized his only experience taking care of a sick child came from Oliver. He really had a lot to make up for.

Finally, at the end of the day, Mr. Elroy stood up. "I have to go home. Get better and take care of yourself. If anything comes up, call the quarry and I'll come straight back."

"Don't you..." Cato asked sleepily, "Don't you want some travel fare?"

Mr. Elroy rubbed his son's shoulder to ease the tension. "You can keep asking, Cato, but I'm never going to take your money."

"Dad..."

"Well, no," his father amended. "If your brother was dying and the only medicine was some impossibly expensive Capitol product, I might ask. Train commute isn't under that jurisdiction, though, so stop worrying.

Cato shivered again and mumbled in a flush, "Come by more."

Mr. Elroy smiled briefly before the creases on his face returned. "Stay strong, soldier," he commanded sternly and quietly closed the door to his son's room.

* * *

"Here she comes," Dicey said, looking out the curtain of the Holloway residence in Victor's Village.

Clove took a breath, leaning her shoulder against his back. "Wonder what it's like to look the devil in the eye?"

Dicey whispered, "Guess we'll find out."

"Keep it cool," Clove advised.

The redhead nodded faintly and tried to steady the beat of his heart. He grabbed the spear and closed his eyes for a moment. When they reopened, they'd darkened considerably and a nasty sneer was plastered across his face. Dicey suppressed it, waiting until it was absolutely necessary.

Clove dragged him out of her house and reminded him, "Keep it cool."

"Keep it cool," he repeated to himself.

The two snuck across the driveway to Cato's gate and stood guard. Clove's hands itched with anticipation.

When Cato's mother come to a halt in front of them, she only asked brusquely, "Can I help you children?"

"Funny," Clove said in a feigned politeness. "I was going to ask the same thing."

The dirty blonde turned up her nose, "You're the pity victor. The one they let live alongside my son. That's too bad."

Clove allowed the comment to roll of her back. "Clove Holloway, I've been waiting to finally meet you."

"Well, I hope I don't disappoint," Ms. Evans replied back airily.

"We were concerned about your sudden appearance. After all, mam, you've been black listed from Victor's Village. In fact, you've been blacklisted from Golden Valley as a whole."

To say Cato's mother's eyes were snakelike would have been a cliche, but it was all Clove could think about when she watched the woman. "My son is much too young to be living on his own. He's a mere child of seventeen who needs the appropriate caregiver."

"Funny you never thought that when you were starving him," Dicey scowled, clenching the spear firmly in his hand.

The woman actually had the audacity to laugh. "Is that what he told you? Well, you clearly are new to this. My son has always had a flair for theatrics."

Clove arched her brows, "That couldn't have been inherited from you, could it have been? Pouring a pot of boiling water on a nine year boy, now that's theatrical."

"Don't think we're misinformed, mam. We've been by Cato's side a whole decade doing what you should have been doing - feeding him, keeping him company, tending to his wounds, and caring for him," Dicey said sourly.

Ms. Evans smirked, "Well, then I don't know what you're so wound up about."

Dicey scowled. "You made a mistake messing with Cato. He's got friends all over, and especially those in high places. You know what, though? They don't matter. I do, and I've got a nasty fucking temper. Don't fuck with my brother."

She only laughed a sharp laugh, "This is sweet. It explains everything, explains his every weakness. What do they teach in you those training schools nowadays? How utterly disappointing."

Clove withdrew a particularly jagged knife and sneered. "If you'd like to see what they teach us Ms. Evans, then I'm dying to give you a live demonstration."

"What is this?" the woman said shrewdly, "Where is my son?"

The dark-haired girl scoffed, and loomed threateningly close to the woman before her, "Do you honestly think for even a second that we'd let you near Cato?"

"He's gotten my letters and there are skeletons in his closet I doubt even he would want aired."

Dicey's cheeks reddened in fury as he pulled the woman in by the collar of her neck, "You're a sick fucking cunt and the fact that you'd exploit your son's desire to please you shouldn't surprise me, but it does. So listen, and listen good, because I'm only going to say this once. If you ever threaten Cato again, I will make sure your death is as gruesome as it can get, and trust me when I say I've got plenty of practice."

"Child, you are-" Ms. Evans began before Dicey struck her so hard in the face, she fell against the pavement and scratched her face.

"Don't think I'm kidding, bitch. I know where you live. You killed one son, I won't let you kill the other, and believe me when I say it's not safe for a woman at night all alone in that house."

Cato's mother's glance sharpened and she showed a shade of fear, but it was just enough for Dicey to grab onto.

Clove crossed her arms, "You'd be wise not to contact Cato ever again because if I find out, they'll have such a hard time picking up all the pieces that they'll never be able to put you back together again."

The dark-haired girl yanked Ms. Evans off the ground and Clove smirked, "But just to be safe..." She then twisted Cato's mother's right arm and the woman grimaced, struggling to keep a straight face. Dicey crossed his arms in satisfaction, before hearing a sickening crack.

Dicey watched as the woman tried to tend to her broken right arm with her left. Clove then said in a sweet tone, "Yes, I definitely prefer it this way. Now, I know you won't make any unsound decisions and try to write anymore unnecessary letters. Why to do so would just be devastating on your poor right arm!"

"You children are taking on more than you can handle."

The redhead smirked, "And yet, I think we've handled it just fine. If you ever harass Cato again, I will find you, and I will make sure your last night is the worst night of your life. We'll see if you can take in what you give out. Now get the fuck out and don't ever bother Cato again."

The woman stumbled off, holding her arm. As soon as she was out of hearing distance, Dicey whispered, "How much do you want to bet she was trained?"

"Everything I own," Clove replied.

The two retreated to Clove's house, where Dicey tried to wrap his arms around the small girl. Clove stiffened in his grasp. Concern filled his brown eyes, "Clo, what's wrong?"

She only said carefully, "You don't have to threaten to fuck her. It-"

"What?" he demanded, flabbergasted. Dicey then yelled, "I would never do that!"

Clove brooded slightly. "'I'll make this the worst night of your life?' 'Let's see if you can take in what you give out?' she repeated to him.

He felt a pit in his stomach and seethed. "You honestly think I could do that?"

Clove's silence was telling.

"Five years of friendship isn't enough to tell you better?" Dicey replied with a maddening flash. "Maybe you are a pity victor," he snapped.

* * *

"I hope this works," Aniston said half-nervous. "I couldn't find something that fit 100%, but I got as close as I could."

Felix continued to peek in every crevice and corner, "They'll make it perfect. It's a solid place."

The wavy-haired blonde beamed, "Oh, good! Well, then it's time for the grand tour."

"Seraphina, Brooke, come look." Felix said, looking still wary.

Brooke raced up to him and grabbed his left hand in her right. He led the duo to the first room. "This is the master bedroom," Aniston explained from behind them.

It wasn't quite as welcoming as her former residence in Victor's Village, but the twenty-five year old woman would trade a stone cold haven for a deluxe, furnished prison. "Does it have heat?" Seraphina asked nervously.

"You won't need it," Felix and Aniston said at once. Aniston gave Felix a cheeky, subtle smile in return.

"One of the benefits of living out West is the climate. Few houses are equipped with heat because it's almost never something that can't be remedied with a few extra blankets," Aniston explained.

Felix nodded as Brooke tugged on his shirt. "Do I get a room too?"

"Well, I was thinking of the dog house out back."

The blonde child only huffed, glaring at him in return while Seraphina watched on in amusement. He then amended, "Course' you get a room, Brooke. It's your house."

"Okay," she said grumpily, still not placated.

The group then moved to the next room over. "Hey, cutie pie," Aniston said with a toothy smile, "This is your room. Why don't you take a peek inside and see how you like it."

Brooke headed in hesitantly until Seraphina gave her a ginger push forward, "Go Brooke."

The little girl entered and explored the room. She turned back explicitly to Aniston, "Will it have toys?"

"Of course it will. I've got lots at home I can bring over. How does that sound?"

"Will you come play with me?" Brooke asked.

Aniston grinned, "Sure thing. I like making new friends."

"Is Mr. Felix your friend?"

"Uh-" the blue-eyed girl paused.

"We're getting there," Felix replied.

It was such a nondescript statement that could have meant anything, but to say it didn't brighten the eighteen year old girl's face would have been a lie. "Alright," Aniston said to the group, "Let's check the rest of the house."

As they perused the property, Felix found more and more flaws, but it still seemed perfect. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he had a good feeling about it, and although he couldn't protect the Almoy duo from Victor's Village, Nero had at least agreed to check in on the pair twice a day (it'd taken a lot of prodding, beginning with the statement, "You kidnapped a victor's family? Do you know how much trouble you could get in!" and ending with, "It's going to be a lot of trial and error, are you ready for the risk?")

Unfortunately for Felix, it seemed the garden he and Aniston had begun to build in his backyard was going on the back burner for a while as they fixed up this haven.

Aniston had also agreed to check in on the family via videophone every three hours during the day and less so during sleeping hours. Once the tour was done and the last few ends were tidied up, he spoke to Seraphina and bid his farewell, promising to visit often.

Brooke tugged on his arm again, "Mr. Felix, are you going away now?"

"You got this big house. Don't you want to to explore it?" he asked, lifting her up.

"But I'll miss you," she said with a devastatingly cute face.

He smirked, "Don't be stupid. I'm a jerk."

The little girl wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek. He bit his tongue to stop himself from shaking. Quickly, he withdrew, and left the house.

When Aniston found him a few moments later sitting against the side of the house, she handed him a handkerchief, and sat next to him. "Every time I think I get you, you turn around and pull a new trick."

He hesitantly accepted the cloth. "You actually carry a napkin for other people in case they cry. I thought Nee was exaggerating. You're like a cartoon character."

"Now, I don't know what delusion Nero was operating under, but the handkerchief is for me."

"Still think I'm emotionally dead on the inside?" Felix mocked defensively.

"I think that it's weird how good you are with kids. I always pictured you as the hair pulling type."

Felix raised his eyebrows, "I was. Why do you think Clove likes me so much?"

Aniston cocked her head to the side, "Must envy all that natural charisma."

"Did you just make a joke, quarry girl?"

"I am capable of doing so from time to time, but don't tell anyone, okay?"

He smirked, "Deal."

* * *

As Lieutenant Holloway made his rounds through the house, he made sure to dim the lights. These homes utilized more energy than they needed to and were built as if to contain a small village in a single dwelling. It was absurd, honestly.

"Night, daddy," Magnilda said sweetly from her bed as she snuggled into the sheets.

The man stood at her door, "If you don't work harder on your school assignments, I'll be sending you out to live with your aunt until your grades improve."

She stuck out her lip in a pout, "Yes, sir."

He turned off the light, and continued down the hallway. The man winced as he stepped on a set of colored pencils. He bent down and picked up the items with a snort.

Traveling to the end, he opened the door to Clove's room. "These pencils need a case. I shouldn't be stepping on them, Clove."

"Sorry," Clove said halfheartedly.

"Don't be sorry, just be alert," he replied firmly. "You're part of a lost generation."

She frowned, "What's that mean?"

He leaned against the door frame. "When I was your age, we didn't go to school, go to training, and then go on dates. We lived, breathed, and ate in an all-in-one facility. Nowadays, you kids go home and you lose your vigilance."

"Do you think I'm a pity victor?" Clove asked him earnestly.

Lieutenant Holloway snorted, "Honestly, I think your boyfriend was the pity victor. He's a smart kid, but not quite smart enough."

He went to turn off the light and Clove stopped him. "Sir?"

The man waited.

"I love you."

He nodded, rigid in his motions. "Love is a weakness," he said slowly. His green eyes glimmered slightly as he added seriously, "but it's a burden I'll gratefully carry for you girls until those fuckers put me in the ground."

* * *

"I've been meaning to see you," she smiled slightly, petting the jackrabbit.

Felix watched the fifteen year old with immense curiosity, "Lay it on me, Hillary."

"Harriet," she corrected, her dark, unbearably wavy hair swinging as she turned back to him.

"You know your mom doesn't like us hanging out together and I'm in no mood to piss of the first triad."

"Sure, she does," Harriet said waving him off, her brown eyes twinkling. "Especially since I've come to deliver a message."

He arched his brows, crossing his arms, "And that is?"

"Cato Elroy has been approved."

There was an uneasy silence, "And Clove too?" Felix asked.

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" He demanded.

Harriet looked at him unapologetic, "She's too loyal to the Capitol."

Felix let out a stream of choice words, "No, she's not! She's the one who refused to play by their rules."

"And then reverted to the mean when she was out of danger. It's too risky, Felix," Harriet said, placing the jackrabbit back in its habitat.

He glared at her, "I want to talk to Lyme on my own."

Harriet rose her eyebrows. "Do what you want. You won't change mom's mind."

"She has an obligation to listen to at least hear me out. That's part of her role among the triad, and you're just a kid-"

"Maybe I am. But the training I've gone through to become a body language expert was extensive and pretty damn excruciating. So don't belittle me when I tell you Clove's dangerous. She will bring down all of our efforts in flames, and I refuse to be the one who signed off on her."

Felix neared in on her with a dangerous look, "What does the second-"

"Felix!" he heard a voice downstairs.

"I can't be seen with you," Harriet said hurriedly.

"What?" Felix asked.

She grabbed his hands and placed them directly on her breasts. "What the hell are-" he demanded, when the door creaked open.

Nero looked from Harriet to Felix and then back again and froze.

Felix pursed his lips together in frustration, when Nero said suddenly, "Dude, I know you're lonely, but Harriet Welsh is like fourteen. If people find out what you're doing with her, you're going to go down in flames..."

Felix gave him an ironic smile, grimacing slightly. "Give me a minute, Nee?"

"Sure," Nero said awkwardly, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Felix withdrew his hands from her shirt and glared. "What the fuck was that?"

She sighed, "I have to keep my cover. No one can know what I do, Felix. I thought I made that clear when we first met."

"So you made me look like a pervert?" he demanded.

"I made it look we were two lonely, hormonal teenagers finding solace in each other's company."

He scoffed, glaring at her. "What is our timeline?" he finally grit out.

"After the Victory Tour," Harriet said. As she left for the door, she looked to Felix, "And try not to screw this up, okay? I'm putting a lot of blind faith in you."

As the door closed behind her, Felix only muttered, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

* * *

**AN **-

Harriet is Lyme's daughter. If you remember correctly, Lyme is a victor from Two in Mockingjay who leads the fight against the Nut. Harriet was in Felix's canon ending as the girl who took care of his rabbit Vega when he was too emotionally out of his zone to deal with himself (He captured Vega in chapter 22 for his niece Roe). She is going to be a key way of showing how district two rebels differently from twelve.

You all are seriously bumming me out with the lack of feedback. Everyone asked for an alternate ending and now I'm barely getting any response out you guys. **Please review. It's only polite.**


	55. The Divergence

Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.

- Abraham Lincoln

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 6/12

* * *

Clove trudged down the stairs in a mess of tangled hair and haphazard clothing. She'd meant only to come down for a glass of water and maybe an apple when she was greeted by an unwelcome face. He was sitting on her couch looking perfectly at home, and though she'd have welcomed him on absolutely any other circumstance, right now he was testing her last nerve.

"So you couldn't make the trip over when I needed your company most, but now you're perfectly willing to commit breaking and entering? What do you want, Dicey?"

The perpetual look of irritation on his face seemed to say that he wasn't there to apologize, at the very least.

He ran a hand through his red hair. "It's cold as fuck in this place. Can we go outside?"

Crossing her arms, she gestured for him to lead the way. Once outside, she closed the screen door behind her halfway and sat on the back patio. There was a comfortable silence for only a moment.

"What do you want?" Clove repeated.

"I wanted to see if you've come to your damn senses and are ready to apologize."

The dark-haired girl stood up, ready to leave. She wasn't in the mood to play any games at the moment.

He pulled her back. "As if I need to force myself on anyone, Clove." Dicey rationalized to her with a cold look, "I sure as hell wasn't the one begging for it when we were tangled up in your sheets."

He saw a flash of white before he fell back, clutching his nose. Clove was on top of him, with a feral growl, "Say that again."

Dicey smirked coolly, raising his eyebrows suggestively at her posture. "Is this how you want to play it? Fine."

In a second, he flipped her over, and held her in place with his right knee. Dicey then grabbed both of her wrists. "Too arrogant to ever learn from your mistakes."

_Try harder! Your combat partner isn't taking you on a picnic! _she heard him echo in the back of her mind.

"Don't patro-" she wiggled a bit, freeing one leg to kick him, "-nize me."

Clove pulled her wrist out of his grasp so easily that Dicey stopped for a moment. Headbutting the older boy, she put her hands at his throat.

The amber-eyed seventeen year old pushed Clove off of him instantly and punched her directly in stomach. Clove gasped out, clutching onto it. "You're good, but never good enough. Comes with the territory of being small."

"Like you're one to talk," she squirmed.

Where were her knives when she needed them? Thrusting her right fist upwards, she hit him directly in the nose once again. Clove then kicked him in the stomach and slowly inched away.

Dicey grabbed her shoulder, ready to pull it out of place, when he saw the familiar flash of defiance in her eyes. His instincts screamed for him to keep going - fight, fight, fight - but everything about this seemed wrong.

He let her go and put distance between the two. When he didn't make any movements, Clove eyed him with suspicion.

"Sorry," he murmured softly, looking down.

The sixteen year old girl said nothing in return.

Dicey sighed, holding his nose. "I shouldn't have been such an ass, but what you said really hurt, Clo. Do know how much it sucks for your best friend to think the very worst of you?"

Clove gave a sound of frustration. Why did the boys always make it about them? Why didn't they ever consider her feelings? "It wasn't like that. It's just- During the games, Cato and I got really close to the point of no return and ever since I've been-"

The creases of Dicey's cheeks reddened suddenly in anger. "Cato, what?" he demanded lowly.

In an instant, he was on his feet and running into the house and then out of the front door. "Dicey, wait!" she screamed, but was unable to match his pacing.

He didn't even bother punching in the code to disarm Cato's house, only climbing over the fence manually. Ever so vigilant, the blonde's front door had been left unsecured and allowed Dicey to storm right in.

When the redhead came into sight, Cato looked flabbergasted. "Dice, what-" Cato began, before being struck down.

Spitting the blood from his mouth, Cato grabbed him harshly by the collar of shirt, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

For a moment, nothing came out of the small man's mouth.

"You better have a good fucking reason for hitting me, Dice. Talk," Cato spat, with only the smallest bit of restraint.

Dicey looked hurt, betrayed, "You raped Clove. How could-"

Cato released him, surprised at the statement. "Dice," he began softly.

Clove burst in. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded of Dicey. "What, so I can't trust you anymore?"

"Cato knows better, Clove. He knows!" Dicey sputtered back, "I'm defending your honor."

"Are you crazy?" Clove retorted, pulling at his hair sternly. "I have that under control on my own, you moron!"

Understanding crossed Cato's face and he helped Dicey off the ground. Instantly, he commanded, "hit me."

Clove pushed Cato's chest and got between the two boys. "You hit him, Dicey, and I'll cut your testicles off. Now both of you sit your sorry asses down!"

Both stood, undaunted. "Now!" she barked.

After a moment, both sat down on the couch, and Clove scowled. "Since neither one of you had to bear the consequences of that incident, neither of you should decide how Cato is punished, so shut the fuck up and listen."

"So you puni-"

"What part of shut the fuck up and listen do you not get, Wilder?" Clove yelled. "No, I didn't punish Cato. I was a little more concerned about making it through the chariots and training to give a fuck about blondie, and if you think for a moment that I was entirely innocent, then you better go home, because we both know that's not how it played out."

Cato looked uncomfortable. "We're going for a more egalitarian approach now," he told his friend.

"I'm going to pretend I know what the hell you're talking about, and say that whatever approach you go for doesn't matter if you two are in a fucking arms race," Dicey said, refusing to maintain direct contact with the blonde.

Clove didn't look impressed with Dicey's behavior. "Our relationship is our business. Bottom line, Red."

Dicey scoffed. "Yeah, and then you stick me in as the only neutral third-party between a damn civil war. Real fair."

"Honestly, it's a good thing Dicey knows," Cato told them both. "We need you as our moral conscience, and it helps being so close to someone that protective over Clove."

The redhead's amber eyes glimmered angrily and he threw his arms up in frustration, "Don't play it like that, C. I'm pretty fucking protective of you, too. "

Clove snorted. What had gotten them there in the first place?

Cato nodded slightly.

Dicey continued, "I lo- I want both of you to be happy, but that can't happen if you're always keeping score."

Cato looked at Clove for a moment and then back to Dicey. "Yeah, because if we did, I'd be winning," Clove mocked.

Dicey looked away, too tired to argue. Cato only gave him an appreciative smile, before punching his shoulder, "You can count on us."

_To drive me crazy_, Dicey thought with a sigh.

* * *

She was perfect. Big, blue eyes, soft, mussy blonde hair.

Cato was certain he could spend an eternity watching her small figure. "Hi," he whispered. The blonde was rewarded with a slight stirring.

He stroked her fine hair gingerly.

His lifelong affinity for cute things was now haunting him as he stared into her eyes. "I don't think I've ever fallen this fast before, Hazey."

Making sure to support her head with his shoulder, Cato gave her a smile. "I don't know how you managed to overcome Sundara's black hair, little bean, but you're definitely an Elroy through and through."

Cato was content to lean back in the rocking chair and hold the newborn to his chest. Her face was still pink, flushed, but he thought she was perfect. She was the newest addition to the growing group of girls he'd ever cared about. The first had always been Clove and the second had been his protege and confidant Magnilda. And a baby made three.

"You've got a whole pack of brothers, Hazel, so make sure you never date anyone, because Lolly and I will make sure they have a miserable death on Earth and then Mars will follow up from the afterlife."

He laughed softly at how she fussed at such a statement. "It'll probably be awhile before your big brother has any little ones of his own, but that's alright, because it means you and I have all the time in the world to get to know each other."

And Cato was sure he saw a smile on the infant's face.

* * *

Clove's eyes widened with excitement as the train mobilized, heading east. "Cato, make sure to get some good pictures while we're on the move."

He nodded distractedly, throwing the contraption at Clove, and laying in his seat.

"What's your problem now, Cato?" Athena demanded with a heavy sigh.

"Oh, he's just mad he's leaving the little monkey behind for two months." Clove said, not turning to either one.

Felix sat silently with a notebook resting on his knee. This time he'd be cognizant. He'd miss people too, sure, but he wasn't about to throw a fit. Nero, Seraphina, Brooke, they'd all be there when got back. Nervousness knotted his stomach, but he pushed it away. No. _They would_ be there when he got back, or there'd be hell to pay.

When the group arrived in District Twelve, Cato and Clove looked utterly dismayed by the climate. He could only imagine their reaction to Eleven. Even in his numb state of disillusion the previous year, Felix been at least mildly affected by the frail children that inhabited the district.

Cato made the speech in Twelve. Somehow he'd ended up being the lesser of two evils, though neither was particularly popular. The girl from Twelve's sister and _brother_ stood together, the blonde sobbing into young man's arms. His gray eyes were as steely and magnetic as her's had been. Cato and Clove's former ally's family was similar in their blandness. He had two brothers - one around Felix's age and the other a year or two older.

As was customary, they were invited to dinner at the mayor's home. He was polite, but restrained. Felix could relate.

The mayor's daughter couldn't look either of the two in the eye, only passing the dishes awkwardly. She reminded Felix of Aniston.

District Eleven wasn't much better, but he penned in the details, noting just how much land covered the district and the agricultural goods it provided to the Capitol.

By the time they made it through Ten's livestock (Clove had complained extensively of the smell) and Nine's wheat fields, both of them had taken a turn for the worse. Cato shut down emotionally and Clove became irascible to a tee.

After Clove's speech in blizzardy District Eight, Athena and the girl sipped on wine and discussed various trivialities. Cato grabbed their coats and left the warm train.

"Cato-" Felix warned.

"I need some air," he replied.

When Cato returned without any of their coats, Felix pursed his lips together, not voicing any disapproval of the boy's actions. Maybe be Harriet had been right.

In District Seven, he spoke again with the triad via videophone. They gave him a clearer timeline. The second member of the triad, the only male among them, informed them all, "Soon, boy. I'm going underground. Our next contact will be on the other side. We are entrusting you with the care of Cato Elroy."

"But, sir, Clove-"

The second triad shook his head. "It's not time yet."

Cato came into the room looking for him and the line disconnected immediately. "Who were you talking to?"

"Nero sends his best wishes," Felix said with a wan smile. "Dinner time?"

"Yeah..." Cato hesitated, unsure what to say. Something didn't seem right.

District Six was especially important in Felix's notes. He detailed pages and pages ascertaining as much as he could about the transportation systems. Cato made the speech there. Their victors were strung out on morphling, and Athena watched Cato and Clove carefully around them. That's all they needed, for one of those addicts to offer a supply to one of their tributes.

Clove asked about the smoggy skies in Five, and Cato woke out of his stupor only to explain that Five supplied the districts with energy.

In Four, Clove spoke of Kailani's intelligence, her composure, and strength. Whether any of that was sincere or not, Felix wasn't sure. Cato seemed apathetic to the district, apathetic to the callous way in which he'd killed Rio, the thirteen year old boy.

Cato came to Clove in the night. They laid side by side for some time, holding hands, and leaching one anothers strength in silence.

Cato leaned against her and began to plant kisses down her collarbone. 'I'm ready'

She helped him pull the exaggerated design off.

"I love you," he said affirmatively.

She kissed him back, combing a hand through the side of his hair. He felt alive.

Clove undressed further, left only in her lingerie. Cato smirked slightly, teasing, "Who says you're not sexy?"

He tore his shirt off and pulled her to his chest - their hearts beating swiftly to the same rhythm. They used his jeans as a source of friction and warmth. Cato pulled at the strap of her bra, "Is it okay if I..."

She bit her lip, giving him an erotic smile. "Are you sure?"

Cato laughed at the challenge.

He unclasped her bra and then his hand traveled south. Left only in her underwear, Cato was barely able to restrain himself. "Fuck, Clove."

Trailing kisses down her chest, he took her left breast into his mouth. His hands glided to her hips, holding her on top of him.

Cato put her against the mattress, then, fashioning his body over hers. The blonde looked her directly in the eyes as his shaky hands reached the edge of her underwear. His hands hovered there hesitantly.

"Keep going," she whispered huskily in his ear.

The blonde took the plunge and gasped at the warmth. Curiously, he explored every inch with his rough hands. Clove redirected him and then let out a string of gasps until he found a regular pattern.

Clove began to moan his name until it became a mantra on her lips. She pulled his face closer and kissed him. Cato found it hard to concentrate between her pleasure and his own. Finally, her mewls became closer and less cohesive, and she let out a loud gasp with his name on the tip of her tongue as she came undone.

He withdrew his hands and looked directly at her, her eyes dilated. "Are you-"

She silenced him by pushing him off of her and pouncing on top of him. Clove kissed him passionately and then gave him a frisky grin, beaming. "Who knew you had it in you?"

Cato raised his eyebrows, "Is that an insult or compliment, Clovey?"

"That was a long time coming is what that was," the dark haired girl responded. Her lips were flushed a beautiful red and he brushed the hair out of her face. Clove watched him with concern, "Can I?"

He looked away in shame, "Today was about you, cutes."

Clove laced her fingers in his as he mumbled sleepily, "We'll get there."

"We'll get there," she repeated, stroking his cheek with her thumb. Clove snuggled closer to him, a gentle expression on her face as she whispered softly, "I love you too, beautiful."

As he stroked her hair, Cato thought of the future, of where they'd be tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, and in the next ten years. He was pleased to find that nothing scared him as long she was by his side.

He didn't have a clue, but he'd soon learn.

Technology was something District Two managed to both overwhelm and underwhelm its constituents with. Only the rich had access to phones, but they utilized machines that spewed out eight arrows in six seconds. Travel wasn't any less confusing. Only the rich owned cars, and though there was a comprehensive train system, it was extremely pricey to those without work authorizations.

Cato made the speech in Three. He begged Malee to allow him the right. The blue-haired woman sighed, trying to explain it wasn't the best to provoke the technology district.

In his speech, Cato spoke of inventiveness and how ingenuity was important to keeping a country running. He gestured to the district's technological advances, and tried not to speak of Datum directly. The boy had been incredibly sharp for fourteen, sure, but his life hadn't been worth more than Clove's. This was Cato's rational for killing him. _He would have died eventually. At least he did something memorable before he passed. _

"Happy 17th birthday, H," Felix said the morning they arrived in District One. "Your prep team's ready for you."

"Magnilda is probably making fun of us every time we get on the stage with these stupid outfits."

"Pretty much what Dice, Nero, and I did while Felix was on tour," Cato agreed, sending his mentor a teasing grin.

Felix gave him a half-hearted smirk in return, throwing an apple at the blonde.

At the end of the day, Cato handed her a silver puzzle piece necklace. Inscribed on the jewelry was the phrase 'I am not complete.' He then showed her a matching necklace around his neck that read 'Without you'

She gave him the most stunning smile he'd ever seen before making fun of him.

District One was probably the least strenuous district. Cato made the speech here, and afterwards, Clove teased him, "Marvel was a determined young man?"

Cato laughed, "He was! Man was so determined to get laid he went to the hunger games so some girl would marry him. That's damn determination."

Felix listened to the duo with great interest as they passed the mountain into Two. "I wonder what it's like being an interrogator: listening to people spew shit day in and day out, knowing they're lying to you."

"Magnilda and I don't get away with anything, that's for sure."

Once they'd made it back home, they were given a proper District Two greeting.

The overwhelming applause normally would have startled Cato, who'd come to loathe loud noises, but the two drank in the attention. "District Two, make some noise for your dual victors, the first in history: Clove Holloway and Cato Elroy!"

Cato and Clove walked onto stage beaming. The mayor handed them each a microphone. What unfolded the minute Clove snatched the device amazed Cato even hours later. With an unyielding energy, she said forcefully:

"Well, what can I say? We've traveled all the districts and I can now confirm that District Two is definitely the best place to be! Thank you all for giving your children the opportunity to vie for the greatest honor there is. 29 men and women have brought this district only the utmost respect around the country, and without your continued efforts, Cato and I may have not been among them, so work hard and let's continue to show the rest of Panem that District Two is the best place to be!"

It wouldn't have been so horrifying if hadn't been so sincere.

Felix let out a stream of air, pissed off. Harriet was _definitely right_. Fucking son of a bitch.

* * *

"Welcome home, asshole," Nero said with a grin as he captured him a bear hug.

Aniston gave him a dazzling smile, "You looked like a star, Felix. Brooke said you were the most handsome boy she's ever seen, and I'd take that as a big compliment."

He laughed at their remarks.

Felix leaned against his palms, getting serious, "I'm leaving."

"But you just got back, man."

"I've been working on things for a while now and I'm only telling you because I want you to be safe, Nee. They're going to come after you."

Nero furrowed his brow, "Who is coming after me, and where are you going? Stop speaking in riddles."

The eighteen-year-old sat on Nero's couch. "I... The games aren't like you think. Sure I've got a big house and a bunch of money, but they own me. Every depraved fuck can pay their weight in gold for the right to bed me and I don't get a say, and I know I'm not the only one."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You're not stupid, Nero! It's like I said - they sell me!" Felix screamed, "And I can't do a thing about it or they'll kill you and I already lost Jade and Roe and-"

_and you're the only one I have left. _

There was an uncomfortable pause in which Nero tried to sort through his thoughts for the right thing to say, but the only thing that came to mind was to scoff. Finally, he replied coolly, "Your pathological need for attention is sick. You need help."

Felix's eyes snapped up to him, shocked, and then his sympathetic system went into overdrive. Aniston let out a scream as the two began throwing punches. "Stop it!"

Nero smirked as he fixed Felix into a chokehold. Once upon a time, Felix would've negated the move in a second, but Nero was bigger than the olive-skinned teen, and he'd become known for his signature headlocks throughout childhood.

Felix had never been particularly stocky, more of the lean muscle type, but he'd thinned incredibly since he'd won. This only gave him further advantage.

"What are you today, Felix, the prince or the pauper?" Nero grit out angrily. "What, are you a little burnt out because for once the attention's not on you? You've just thrown out an accusation so terrible against the Capitol that it can never be rescinded!"

Felix elbowed him harshly, pushing him to the ground, and then placed his right foot over Nero's heart. A flash of grief went through Nero's eyes. Hollowly, Felix only muttered, "You've become a real bastard, Nee."

He left Nero on the ground unharmed and began walking away shakily. "Wait, Felix, don't!" Aniston called out.

The dark-haired boy turned to her. "Do you believe me?" he asked Aniston, looking discouraged.

She covered her mouth, watching him and then looked to her fiance on the floor. "I'm sorry," she said, a tear running her cheek.

"It's okay," Felix swallowed, trying to erase the vulnerable look stamped across his face.

Quietly, he added, "I wouldn't believe me either."

* * *

"I do not want to meet the person who was able to fuck you up that bad," Cato said when he found Felix a few days later. The eighteen year old was tending to his garden, clipping the plants, and watering the flowers.

Cato waited for Felix to say something, but nothing came from his mouth. Finally, Cato followed up, "When we were kids, I used to think nothing scared you. Growing up sucks, huh. Do you want to talk about what's bothering you? You can trust me."

Felix replied back so quietly he almost didn't hear him, "They sell me." At Cato's confusion, he elaborated briefly, "The Capitol sells my body."

"But who could beat you in fight?" the blonde inquired with a frown.

He shook his head, "The sell me... sexually."

Cato's eyes narrowed, "What?"

"You don't have to believe me, I-"

The blonde snorted, "You have a tell when you lie, dude."

Felix averted his eyes, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Cato teased, then hesitated. "How long?"

"Few months after I won, bout a year and a half ago. They made it sound like a good thing, 'Oh Mr. Grey, you'll have anyone you want.' It didn't appeal to me. I wanted to build the house and explore and be normal. I always envied the typicals, and when I was gullible enough to refuse, they killed the only family I had left."

Cato was at a loss for words.

"You said I can trust you - that still true?"

"Uh, yeah, man. I didn't change my mind in the last minute."

His brown eyes searched Cato's face for any signs of deception. "I'm part of a movement seeking change in government. We want to modify the Hunger Games. And it's happening quickly. I'm due to leave any day now."

The blonde tried to process a life without the games, without the adrenaline, without ever putting the skills they'd developed their whole lives to use, and felt empty upon arrival. Then Cato thought of the last night before the arena, how he and Clove had cried for what they'd have to do to each other, and how excited he'd been when they'd said two tributes could win.

"When I was in the Games, Mars came to me in a dream and said... he said not to let anymore people lose their family to the Games, and I didn't understand then, but I've started to more and more."

Was he ready to leave the home he'd come to love so much? There was a pause before he added, "I want in."

Though he knew a single soul couldn't hear them, he turned from side to side as if such words would only end in anguish.

Felix snipped one of the flowers from the bush. "I wish my sister came to me in dreams. Closest thing I get are her dying screams and blood upon my hands. Good stuff, really."

Cato studied him. "Catalysts for change," he murmured to himself. He shook his head at Felix's inquiring stare.

"My field person thinks you'd be a good fit. Fair warning, Cato, this isn't a joke. You go hard or you go home and there's no guarantee that we'll achieve anything."

"How much prodding do you think it'll take to convince Clove?"

Smoothing the dirt below, Felix only let out a cough, "She can't come."

"You can't ask me to choose between you and Clove."

His mentor's eyes narrowed in on him, "Don't trivialize what we're doing to a choice between me and Clove. You're either willing to fight for what you believe or you aren't."

Cato gave him a frustrated expression, "I can't just leave her. I just got Clove's trust back."

"Let me ask you something, you think Clove's loyalty is stronger to you or to the benevolent Capitol rulers who let her live?"

Cato's stomach knotted.

"Because if you're naive enough to think you can bop on over to Clove and ask her to join a movement that compromises her beliefs, then maybe you'd be better off on her side and not weighing down mine."

Felix watched the seventeen year old's conflicted face, "How much time do we have?"

"Not much. Maybe a week. We won't know, and we have to be prepared to go at any time. You can't tell anyone."

"If the Capitol was willing to kill your family, what makes you think they're not willing to kill mine? I have a three month old sister and a five year old brother. I can't put them at risk." Cato demanded.

There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes as Felix spoke, "Tell them, and tell them quick."

* * *

As Cato trudged across the unpaved road, he walked as slowly as he could. A pit formed in his stomach as he walked onto the driveway and then towards the front door. The seventeen year old waited for only a moment before knocking.

All the deep breaths in the world wouldn't prepare him for this.

"Better late than never," his mother clucked when she opened the door to his childhood home. Cato hesitantly followed her in.

He bit on his tongue to quell his nerves. In a rush, he mumbled, "I'm leaving soon, and you won't be safe anymore. Once I'm gone, you'll be in danger."

His mother gave him a sharp glance, "Where are you going?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Fine," she replied. "Then who will be after me?"

Cato didn't know how to explain anything to her without revealing sensitive information. "People who want information on me, and trust me, they'll do anything to get it."

"And what do you expect me to do?" his mother demanded.

"You need to run. Go through the mountains or across district lines, but if they find you, you may not survive."

Her shrill response was simple. "And abandon my district, how dare you even suggest so."

Cato glared at her, pushing her into a seat. With a desperate expression, he pleaded, "I am trying to protect you!"

She only turned her nose up in the air, "Yes, drag me into your reckless adventures, as if I don't have enough to worry about."

Cato reached into his pockets and threw all the money he had, which wasn't much, at her and scowled. "You know what? I'm sorry I was such a disappointment, but I'm done giving a fuck what happens to you. You can have all my money. I won't need it where I'm going."

And for the first time in his life, Cato felt deserving of his victor title.

_I'm finally free. _

* * *

**AN** - A chapter of firsts; first greater step of intimacy, first time standing up to his mother, first time Felix revealed his secret, and first time Cato met his little sister.

Responses are greatly, greatly appreciated. It sucks when you get excited about a chapter and then you have 400 views but no feedback, so I am setting up a minimum threshhold before the next chapter (especially since this one is a few days early).

**Please review.**


	56. The Kaleidoscope Heart

Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do.

- Voltaire

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 7/12

* * *

March, 75

Clove was breathtaking in her understatement. As she added another glob of teal paint to the canvas, she concentrated intensely on the blank space and spread the paint thinly. She gave him the most rewarding smile when she caught him watching her.

"What's with that stupid look on your face?" Clove inquired with an amused smirk.

Cato looked up from his novel, placing it on the bed, and walked over to her. Grabbing her face carefully, he began to kiss her. He pulled away a moment later, "Just... you're beautiful."

With a snort, Clove mocked, "Are you trying to get into my pants, Mr. Elroy?"

He gave her a sexy smirk, before pulling her into his chest. "I love you, alright? and I want you to remember that for the rest of your life. Don't ever, ever forget."

She arched her brows, "With how often you've been saying it the last week, I don't think I could, even if I wanted to."

_You're laying it on a little thick, love._

"So about those pants of yours..." Cato teased playfully.

Clove shook her head, "Nope, not until we get past your pants first. Clove Holloway doesn't do personal debts."

Cato laughed in return. "It's not a debt, Clovey. I get just as much out of making you feel good as you do..." Huskily, he whispered in her, "I could give you a live demonstration."

"Cato!" she complained, swatting him away and shooting him a dirty look.

"Okay," Cato agreed softly, "but I lead, Clove."

Clove nodded and he pulled off his t-shirt, gingerly laying it on the bed. Perhaps accidentally, she mumbled, "You are so much more than a pretty face, Cato, but boy do you have a pretty face."

He started to laugh uncontrollably at the endearing comment. "You're not half bad yourself," he joked, kissing her chastely. Cato unclasped the button of his pants and pulled them off, left only his boxers.

Clove stood atop the bed and leaned in for another kiss. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she jumped into his arms. Cato barely caught her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. His breathing became erratic as the two kissed another fervently.

"You okay?" she asked quietly as she fell back onto the bed and leaned forward.

"Now or never," he smirked, guiding her hand to his waistband.

Clove didn't dare look into his eyes lest she find fear. Instead, she pulled the waistband down, closed her eyes, and began to stroke him. Though she wasn't exactly new to sex, she was 'out of practice' and for some reason she really, really couldn't live with disappointing him.

Nervousness knotted her stomach and Cato let out a groan, "Why... why did you slow down?" he complained.

It took a second for her to realize he was enjoying her ministrations. _Of course he is, moron. _Clove increased her pace, exploring his length, and opened her eyes. _If you can't even look at him, then you aren't ready, _she chastised herself.

"Damn, Clove," he moaned.

Cato's breathing accelerated as she continued to experiment with pacing and pattern. "I don't know how you made it sixteen years without a sexual experience," she said to herself. Clove winced when she realized that bringing up how his sexual debut had been ripped violently from him wasn't at all appropriate for their current activities.

He let out several louder moans, before groaning, "Fuck." Cato seemed to hit the point of no return as he let out another string of expletives. When he came down, the blonde only gave her a dirty grin, pulling his boxers into place, and looking awfully accomplished.

It was pretty damn adorable. With the excitement on his face, _he_ was pretty damn adorable.

Clove pat his back like a teammate after a good game and Cato arched an amused brow before leaning his forehead to hers, "To answer your poorly-timed question, I sort of, always, kind of hoped my first experience would be with you, so I kept everyone else at an arm's length, and then just as we finally got comfortable... well, _she_ happened, but forget that. I definitely plan to. You are the only person in my personal past, present, or future that will ever matter, Clovey."

She beamed at him, and sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Finding it near irresistible, Clove pecked his cheek, and asked, "So, why don't you tell me what you're reading?"

* * *

When Felix said that they'd need to be ready to go at any time, he'd actually meant _any _time.

A platoon of soldiers rushed through Cato's home at an impossibly early hour, several before sunrise, and loudly directed them to move. Hazel's cries of protest were the first sign of something gone amiss and his father tried to hush the infant as they were lead out of the house and into the back of a nondescript delivery truck.

When he stumbled climbing in, Sundara extended a hand and gave him the last pull to safety. "Are you okay?"

Cato nodded.

"Cato, Sunni, come on," Mr. Elroy hurried.

Felix sat in the corner of the dark delivery truck, only raising two fingers in greeting. "Morning Elroys."

"Oliver, come here," Cato said, shaking slightly. His brother shuffled over to him in an instant, sitting on his lap. Cato wrapped his arms around the young boy's waist and held him in place. "Don't be scared," he whispered quietly.

Oliver leaned back, his cheeks white. "I'm not, because I've got you and mommy and daddy."

Cato nodded in approval. "Stay strong, soldier."

Throughout the journey in the musty, dark truck, all the blonde could think about was whether or not he'd done the right set of homework problems for school. The thought drove him nearly mad as he tried to solve various math problems in his head. It was all so very frustrating, and just as he was about to pull his hair out, Oliver complained, "Cato, I'm cold."

He pulled his brother closer to his chest.

"_Mars, I'm cold."_

"_Then go put on a sweater, dummy." _

The truck came to its third or fourth stop, and the group waited for the vehicle to pass clearance as it had done so a few times in the last hour. Finally, the back of the truck slid up, and they found themselves in a vaguely familiar, but certainly not ideal location.

"How long are we staying here?" Mr. Elroy asked.

A soldier helped them out of the truck. "This is the movement's headquarters. You will be stationed here until further notice."

Felix jumped out of the truck, looking around, and shivering. "This place is an ice pit. How the hell do you stiffs work in a place so cold?"

"Hope complaining isn't a normal habit of yours," the soldier said shortly, pushing him along with his gun impatiently.

The raven-haired man turned back the soldier with a dirty look, before leading the group.

Cato snorted as he followed his family inside the silver industrial structure. Every axis of the building was hit by a reflection of light, and one could see themselves in every surface.

"Welcome to Two North. I am Harriet Welsh, interpreter for the Synergy Movement, so named for the collaboration between important officials such as military leaders, victors, and leaders, and the constituents they serve, honor, and protect."

Cato watched as a rather young wavy-haired brunette led a group of almost seventy or eighty people down a narrow hallway. She pulled a strand of hair back, and smiled when she saw the two teens.

Harriet gestured to them, making Cato slightly uncomfortable. "These two are a perfect example of our model at the Synergy Movement. Without key individuals like the 73rd and 74th victor, it'd be difficult to spread our message and gain any attention from our political officials. Despite this, you are just as important. Don't let anyone make you feel different."

The individuals that followed her into the next hallway varied so much from one person to the next that it surprised Cato. Some were clearly among the high-class in society, while others looked like they hadn't a good meal in a few weeks. He found it fascinating to watch the way they walked in perfect synchrony despite their differences.

"She a runaway?" Cato asked Felix in a hushed whisper.

Felix shook his head, whispering back, "Her mom is the whole orchestrator of this project."

They continued to follow the soldier. "And we all know there's nothing Felix Grey likes more than a project," Cato replied evenly, "How'd you get involved anyway?"

Felix didn't know how comfortable he was with telling Cato that after he and Clove had been swallowed by the whirlpool that he'd thought they'd both died, and that despite this, the Capitol demanded he continue his _work. _He didn't feel comfortable adding that Finnick Odair had found him mid-panic attack and had had to help level him out. More than anything, he didn't want to even speak of how quickly he'd been willing to sell out his district for an out, for any out, and how Odair had promised him one.

So instead, he just said, "Let's just say support extends far beyond district lines."

* * *

It'd been nearly a week since her and Cato's last romantic encounter, and three days since she'd last seen the blonde.

When she showed up at West Region School #91 on a Thursday in the middle of March, Dicey offered her some of his steamed veggies, which she declined. Dicey make a remark to the effect of 'your loss,' before taking a big gulp of water.

Before the two could start talking, a leggy, lean blonde sat beside the duo. "Hi, Clove."

Clove offered her a brief nod of acknowledgement. The fourteen year old girl had definitely grown into her looks, and was amusingly enough as tall as Dicey. Wilder genetics were fascinating.

Dicey looked at her expectantly, "Is there something you want, Halle?"

"Not really. Just sitting here since you scared off all my friends. I can't be a total pariah, or they'll start throwing rocks at me."

Clove's first question was why Halle hadn't just joined Callan's group, when she realized she'd answered her own question. Callan's group were exact type of people Dicey would try to scare off. The thought amused Clove.

"They're not your friends," Dicey said with a hard edge. "Those boys want one thing and one thing only."

"Just because you're a slut doesn't mean everyone else is."

The dark-haired girl bit on her lip to stop herself from laughing. Yeesh. If Magnilda had said that to tell, she would have pulled her teeth one by one.

Dicey's eyes widened in surprise at the harsh remark. "Don't talk to me like that, Halle. Do you know how hard I work for you every day?"

"I'm so tired of you throwing that back in my face," she said, standing up. Halle scoffed, "Honestly, I'd rather sell myself than deal with you."

"Halle-"

The blonde began walking away. "Halle!" Dicey called out, drawing the attention of several other students. Dicey's cheeks reddened and he sighed, leaning his head into his arms. "Distract me," he grumbled. "Anything, go."

"Cato's not talking to me anymore."

"Yeah?"

"I've been trying to get a hold of him for three days but he keeps ignoring all of my calls, refuses to come to the door when I ring the alarm, and I don't even know what I did this time. I thought we were on the right path."

Dicey signaled for her clarify.

"We've begun learning more about each other," Clove said, picking her words carefully. "I thought we were happy."

The amber-eyed boy looked up from his hands and counted up the blonde's absences from school up in his head. Thinking back to their brief discussion, Dicey was tempted to tear every hair out the boy's head for leaving him in this unsuitable situation.

Apologetically, the redhead announced morosely, "Cato left, Clo. He abandoned Golden Valley."

* * *

"As you can imagine, the strategic developments for the Synergy Movement have long been underway."

It took a moment for the audience to realize they were suppose to engage in dialogue with their leader. There were a few nods of affirmation.

Lyme continued, "Yes, well, we believe its best to disperse information in sporadic bursts. Each of you will have a field liaison. For those under the age of 21, Harriet will be your field liaison. Those over 21 will work directly with me."

The group gave mixed nods or remarks of "okay."

"Some of you have an extensive training history, even a daily regimen you still maintain. We gathered as many tools as we could. If you are assigned as a soldier, feel free to utilize your signature weapon as you will, but each of you will be trained to use a gun just as any Capitol soldier would be."

A few of the middle-aged men smirked at one another. "Got any tomahawks?" one asked her.

Lyme looked at the group sternly. "A few. You're free to tour the facility at a future time."

Harriet stood among a few other teens, watching intently as Lyme moved onto their main directive. "We've broken our directive into several manageable fragments. Our first objective is to ascertain as much information as we can."

"That's pretty vague," one of the women replied.

"President Snow is a very cunning man who is careful to say only what is necessary and very little more. He confides his decisions to key officials, but ensures none of these officials have the opportunity to solicit information from one another. Our directive, then, is to gather as much information from these officials as we can. We're talking about game makers, technicians, liaisons, political figures."

Individuals among the group each had varied ideas about what this meant, but Lyme specified quickly. "We will spend the next six weeks developing a direct path and preparing for this physically, mentally, and statistically. And then men and women, we will descend upon the Capitol."

Felix and Cato looked at one another.

Mr. Elroy interjected, "And who are we looking for?"

"Good, some investment," Lyme praised.

She looked to the group as a whole, instructing, "Each unit will be assigned an official to seize. I will say this once, and once only. All officials must arrive unharmed, or you and I are going to have a problem."

Another woman added, "What exactly are we looking for?"

"The raunchiest treachery we can drudge up. Believe me when I say, their actions speak for themselves. It's time for our benevolent rulers to meet their public."

* * *

April, 75

"Holy shit, Clove. Holy fucking shit. The president is here!" Magnilda squealed, screaming up the stairs.

Clove walked down the steps and looked around, confused. "Well, where is he?"

"Holy shit. I left the president on our front porch," Magnilda gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

Clove rolled her eyes. "Go make some tea, or coffee, or anything that will make us look less we belong on the streets and more in this house he gave us. Hurry up!"

Clove hurried to the door, straightening out her jeans and t-shirt. She grimaced slightly at the attire. Opening the door, she bowed. "President Snow, it's such an honor to have you in District Two. Please come in."

As he entered, Clove caught a whiff of the rose clipped to pocket of his suit. The dark-haired girl had to remind herself not to make any inappropriate comments about the unpleasant smell that lingered as he took a seat on her couch.

"Miss Holloway, let's not be coy. I'm here to discuss the matter of your co-victor Cato Elroy. Rumors are that he's abandoned his home in Victor's Village. To do so is a great disrespect to those who supported the two of you throughout the course of the games."

Clove tried to stop herself from speaking too quickly, but failed in such an endeavor. "I agree entirely, sir."

"So, then, Miss Holloway, where has Mister Elroy relocated to?"

"Honestly, sir, I don't know."

She was surprised how hard it was to say those words aloud.

"I find that difficult to believe. Were you not willing to sacrifice yourself for him once before? Do not be naive, and do not take us for naive either. We will not be gracious a second time."

Clove was taken aback by the threat, and nervously mumbled, "I'll find him myself. Bring him home and try to clear everything up."

The president's eyes were narrow and sharp. "Do so, Miss Holloway. Failure in such endeavors may result-" He looked to Magnilda as she brought out a makeshift tray with cups of tea, "in heavy consequences for us all."

Magnilda placed the tea on the tables, smiling nervously at the president, and scurried away, watching from behind the kitchen door.

Clove gave the president a determined nod. She racked her brain for something more substantial to add until she reached the same dead end again and again.

"My father is one your best men, sir. If you find it appropriate I'm willing to commit myself to your troops. I will do everything it takes, I assure you."

"That may be advisable. Do remember time is limited, and we wouldn't want a reckless rebellion on our hands."

"I will do anything it takes to prevent an uprising, sir," Clove replied, a certain flare in her eyes.

He only gave her an eery smirk in return. "I'm certain you will, Miss Holloway. I have no doubt you may very well become a symbol in your own right."

_A symbol of what?_

* * *

For a grassroots movement, the Synergy Movement didn't struggle with funding. At least, it appeared that Lyme had been saving for the project for awhile.

For the last four weeks the under-21s, pejoratively known as "Harriet's Boys," had been training with former Capitol soldiers to learn their pattern of movement and prototypical set of techniques. After discovering how intensive Capitol training apparently was, Cato found himself grateful that Lieutenant Holloway was Clove's father. If anyone could protect her, it'd be him.

"Take two years off of training and suddenly you're a faster runner than ever before," Cato told Felix as they left the gymnasium. "You have to have the world's best luck."

"Or the world's worst luck," Cato argued, pausing to himself. "I can't tell which."

Felix wiped the sweat from his head, ignoring the blonde's back and forth. "It's because I'm a skinny little shit now. Jade used to force feed me peanut because it was cheap and good for protein. If I could go the rest of my life without ever seeing a canister of that shit, it'd be too soon."

"It's more than that. You barely eat."

"I forget to."

"You don't forget anything, Felix. In third grade, I borrowed fifty cents and you bugged me about it for three weeks afterwards."

Felix snorted, "And then you bummed fifty cents off of Nero. You were such a little scam artist."

"I prefer the title 'scavenger'" Cato said with an amused smirk, before looking at him strangely. "You still mad at him?"

"You don't want to know what sort of sick shit I've done for the two years to keep him alive. He's the closest thing I have to family, and I knew he wouldn't believe me, but I'd really hoped that maybe... Guess I never realized how much I depended on him to keep me from slitting my throat."

"Suicide is the coward's way out."

"Noted."

Cato looked at him for a second, and Felix grew wary of his watchful stare. "I'm celibate, sweetheart."

The blonde raised his eyebrows suggestively. "They're probably singing the hallelujah chorus as we speak, then."

Felix laughed, punching him the shoulder gruffly. "Well someone's definitely singing it," he said. "I don't know what's worse - that I lost my virginity at eleven to a blubbering typical or the fact that I've probably had sex with more people in the last year than I've actually killed in my whole life."

Cato cringed. "That's bleak."

"When Jade found out what I'd done, she dragged me to the medical annex and made me grab a handful of prophylactics, which may have been the most uncomfortable moment of my life. Well, it was then, at least. When I tried to fight her off, she pointed to her barely there baby bump and asked me if that's what I wanted for my life." Felix shook his head, looking morose, "I miss her grouchy ass."

As Felix continued to babble on, Cato's thoughts drifted backed to Clove.

He tried to force the image of her betrayed face out of his head.

_One day you will understand. _

* * *

May, 75

Dicey left for Two North's Military Base the day he turned eighteen. Within days, he'd found that it was nothing like anything he ever imagined.

As the trio sprinted back and forth, a group of soldiers ran laps in a rectangular pattern around the perimeter of the gym. Dicey grabbed his head, slightly dizzy by the constant motion, and whined, "Why did I-" He let out a gasp for air, "Why did I let you-" Another pant, "convince me this was a good- a good idea?"

Nero and Clove didn't stop sprinting, but a second later, a knife went whizzing by Dicey's ear. He stop his sprint, dodging the weapon as it flew to the edge of the wall. "What the hell was that?"

"Grow up. If you can't handle a fucking sprint, maybe you should go home and be a quarry man."

Dicey's hardened glare made her smirk. As far as Clove was concerned, his complaints were low on her list of priorities. In only a few weeks, the reaping awaited, and she...

Nero didn't stop his sprints.

"You've become a real-"

"Bitch?" Clove supplied, unaffected, holding a second throwing knife in her hand. "You're either a soldier or a princess, sweetheart. So make up your mind and quit your bitching."

Swiftly, the redhead slapped her across the cheek. "I'm not the one who had to buy my way in."

Clove let the comment roll off her back, "You couldn't even buy dinner-"

Right as he went for a second hit, one of the running soldiers diverted from his path and separated the two.

_Do not deviate from the technique, _Clove heard her first instructor say in the back of her head.

"This isn't the fucking academy, children. Get back to work."

The dark-haired girl's lips pursed in satisfaction as she punched the soldier in the face. Surprised, he fell to the ground, and Clove held him in place. She pulled another knife from her uniform, twirling it slightly, and sweetly said, "When I want your input, cadet, I'll ask for it," before stabbing him in the throat.

Dicey's stomach clenched.

Nero didn't stop sprinting. Neither did any of the other soldiers.

* * *

Tomorrow his unit - unit thirteen - would descend upon the Capitol.

Cato looked at the palm of his hand, frowning. The grasp of the sword lingered even hours later. It felt cruel to hold Hazel in the same hand, as if he could hurt the infant by mere association.

While the rest of his family ate, he kept an eye on his sister, who was happily trying to crawl on the bed. "I'm think you take after me, Haze," he said. She babbled on incoherently in response.

If they succeeded, if this long shot actually succeeded, she'd never have to endure the hell he'd gone through. That didn't stop his curiosity, though. What weapon would she have chosen? Oliver had been very vocal of his choice. That created a new curiosity in his line of thinking. How long would it have taken the Annex to take his pacifist (if not passive-aggressive) brother and turn him into one of them?

Then his thoughts strayed to his own childhood.

Had he ever had a chance of being normal? and at what point had he crossed the insuperable line? Was this all for nothing? Was it too late to change? After all, you kill one man, you kill one hundred - what's the difference?

_99, _he heard Mars retort impatiently in the back of his head.

And then his mind added helpfully, _not to mention the two dozen tributes carted off to the Capitol each year. _

As he pulled on his leather coat, Cato pondered about his father. While never naive to his capabilities, he'd been surprised by the extent, and how much restraint he must have had when punishing him as a child. Certainly, his father was not as agile as the young soldiers, but he was surprisingly precise and lethal in his movements. It stirred a strange pride in Cato that the man with such a heavy hand very rarely used it anymore.

Cato wondered if he'd follow in his footsteps.

Hazel gurgled, clapping her hands happily, and he swallowed nervously. He'd do this for her.

The clock was ticking. Two days until... this twist was too sick to even contemplate.

_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the decisions of one affect many, the tributes will be reaped from the kin of the existing pool of victors without regard for age._

Tomorrow, they'd invade.

* * *

**AN** - Cato and Felix left for Two North in mid-March and the chapter closes about two and half months later in late May. Reapings take place on May 30th each year. To join the military, one must be eighteen, which is why Dicey arrived at base after Nero and Clove (Nero is eighteen as of last August and Clove was given an exemption by Snow).

**Please review** - I've got the next chapter in queue and will release it once we hit threshold. Let's say about twelve reviews (210 total).

Chapter Questions: Who's side are you on, Cato's or Clove's? Do you think the quintet (Cato, Clove, Dicey, Nero, and Felix) will make good soldiers? How do you think Clove will react when she sees Cato again?


	57. The Inferno

The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers.

- Carl Jung

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 8/12

* * *

_This is the second update in 3 days. Make sure to read chapter 56 if you haven't been online since Saturday._

* * *

June, 75

"These morons are totally incompetent," Clove grumbled, covering the salt and pepper haired man. He was crouched in the corner, terrified, and for a moment, the seventeen year old girl was worried the man had actually been injured in the crossfire. Then she realized the red stain on his skin was dye and not blood. She dodged another dagger, smirking as she pulled it from the wall with a casual twirl.

The duo of teenaged rebels circling in on her froze for a moment and she smirked. _Big mistake._

In an instant, one of the girls fell to her knees, the dagger embedded in her chest. The other girl cried out and barely avoided Clove's throwing knife.

Smirking, Clove trudged towards the girl. She looked to her fallen comrade solemnly, then back at Clove, and retreated. Bored, Clove didn't follow, ready for the next rebel naive enough to test her patience.

"On your feet. We need to move," Clove told the cowering man, not bothering to help him up.

He stood up, shaking, and followed her. "Will it go under?" he stammered.

Clove huffed as she pulled the man along. She gave the city circle a once over, gazing at the collapsed columns. Only hours ago, the tributes for the 75th Annual Hunger Games had ridden through the path. Only a year ago, she and Cato had ridden through the path. She tried to erase the scene from her memory and focus on the present.

She scowled. "Nothing that can't be rebuilt in a day with the right workers."

And as she looked at President Snow's mansion, she didn't doubt they'd ship all the districts' men if that's what it took.

* * *

Nervousness stirred in Felix's stomach as he opened the door as quietly as he could.

Making sure Enobaria and Brutus wouldn't wake and ruin his efforts, he entered carefully. Felix released a sigh of relief upon seeing the her small, sleeping form.

Gingerly, he picked up the child and held her protectively against his chest. If it were possible, his heart began to beat even louder, quicker. _Breathe. She's okay. _

"Mr. Felix?" the blonde child asked groggily, clutching onto him as she woke.

He pet her head softly, hoping she didn't see his gun, and become fearful of him. "Can you be extra quiet for me? I'm going to take you somewhere safe."

Brooke held onto him tighter, leaning against him.

"Almost there. Good job," Felix whispered.

"I knew you'd come. You're lucky I didn't warn them."

The raven-haired young man turned towards the door, caught redhanded. "It's because I trust you," Felix told him, unabashed.

"Are you going to even defend what you're doing?" Nero asked, folding his arms in disapproval. He looked all wrong in the Capitol sleepwear, but Felix preferred it to the soldiers uniform. He preferred anything to the soldiers uniform.

"She's a little kid, Nee."

Nero watched them coldly. His eyes flit from Felix to Brooke, and then back to Felix once more. A moment of doubt was all they needed, before Nero moved away from the door frame, letting them out. "Don't expect me to do this again."

Felix didn't have to assess Nero's motives, not that he had the time either way. As he passed the threshold, Felix only said earnestly, "This is why you were worth doing what I had to."

_And I'd do it again. _

The guilty, stricken look on Nero's face left an ache in his chest that he suppressed. Grabbing a better hold on the four-year-old tribute, he looked to Nero, and instructed, "Do me a favor and don't die, alright? Do whatever it takes to get out of the arena alive."

The blue-eyed teen only said softly, "Is that all you have to say to me? This is more than just a game, Felix."

Felix gave him a smirk, trying to mask his pain, and only said, "Glad you finally figured that one out, Nee. See you on the other side."

Nero watched him doubtfully, a numb, unsettling feeling overwhelming him as he watched Felix disappear from sight.

* * *

July, 75

By withholding them of their brightest game technicians, the Synergy Movement managed to stall the Quarter Quell by days, which eventually turned into weeks. Capitol officials assured the public that though the games were delayed, they hadn't been done away with yet.

They were in denial.

Watching Clove rise up as a symbol of Capitol compliance tore Cato's insides into a zillion little pieces, and yet he chastised himself for not being smart enough to have seen it coming. Her speeches, mechanical, cold, and demanding, struck terror in the public eye.

Day in and day out, the screens played clips from the battle on the Capitol. The Synergy Movement had lost approximately 275 soldiers, which statistically left every third bed empty, but they'd lost so much more than that in morale.

Harriet shook her head, turning off the television, and trying to send a reassuring look to her unit. "Under 21s, gather round!" She let out a sharp whistle and the discouraged soldiers amassed in a circle around her. The young men towered over her, and the young women looked ominous, worn.

"Look, I know this looks bad, but we knew it was risky. The Capitol military is as old as the dawn of time, and their techniques stretch as far back as-" she spoke quickly, sharply, nervously.

One of the teen girls let out a sound of dissatisfaction, "What about our friends, our bunk-mates, our family members? Are we going to keep fighting blindly until our numbers dwindle so low they pluck us off one by one? We need more than pretty words from a little girl."

She tried not to look hurt, but found it harder than she thought. Harriet gave herself three seconds before pulling herself back together. "Our next plan will hit them where it hurts, but before we get to that, I have to do individual assessments to see where each of you are at."

There was a sound of dissent, but she only shook her shoulders impatiently, huffing.

"You're first, Elroy."

He didn't say anything in return, only allowing her to usher him into her office. "Congratulations on obtaining your official. I didn't expect any less out of you."

Cato shrugged, nonchalant. "I don't think he knows anything. Guy sits in his cell all day crying and rocking himself to sleep. We haven't even touched the motherfucker yet."

"The guise of ineffectuality is low-toned and a last resort, but I worry."

"When aren't you worrying, Harriet?" Cato demanded tiredly.

"There is only so much more time before the Capitol grows tired and comes after us directly. If our base is infiltrated, we will lose so much more than just men."

He looked equally as put out as the rest of them. "Don't you think I know that?" Cato's thoughts unwillingly strayed to his brother and sister, then unpleasantly to his father and stepmother. He knew what was at stake. He thought about it constantly. "Do you think it's my fault all of this has happened?"

"No, of course not. It's never been about you, any of them. This sort of stuff is rooted in maybe a millennium of oppression," Harriet said softly. "And while I have no doubt in my mind that Clove would die for you, and you for her, if her loyalty to the Capitol is as strong as her loyalty to you, then we're in danger."

There was a defensive, uneasy expression written all over Cato's face, almost as if he wanted to be angry, but felt to do so would be inappropriate.

Concerned washed over her, as she quietly said, "Secrets are dangerous. If your secret is more important than your life, then maybe it's better if we assign you to a different unit."

Cato gave her a menacing look, but she remained unaffected. "All I can do is be honest, Cato."

"Clove was the first person to ever show me kindness, first person to tell me I deserved better than what I came from, first person to challenge every idea I ever had for myself, and now..."

Sorrow underlined his every word, "and now that person is gone. She's not Clove anymore, and everyone's looking at me to fix it, to shut her down, because it would have been too trite for the Capitol to play us as lovers, friends, partners. Instead, they reduced us to nothing but a number, the only number they ever told us matters since day one. But you know what? Fuck that. I won't kill her, and I won't let anyone else either."

"Your loyalty is admirable," Harriet replied, impressed.

He looked up, surprised, but suspicious.

"The more and more I listen to Felix, the more I start to believe maybe he's not such a bad judge of character. He warned me, but I was too wrapped up in getting things done to really take his concerns into account."

"He's barely worth trusting anyway," Cato replied, stubbornly.

She gave him a small smile, "I'd just finished junior high the year he won. And one day I saw him coming through the gates with the cutest little rabbit, so I asked him where he got it, and he gave me the creepiest smile before telling me he planned to make it for dinner and-"

"No fucking wonder why everyone thinks Two West is prehistoric," Cato snorted.

"At first, I thought he was going to torture it. That's what most victors do to quell their bloodlust. I started to lay it on a little thick with the tears and he gave me the funniest look, like I was the craziest person he'd ever met, which is weird considering how weird he is, before telling me it was for his sister's kid and that I needed to get my head checked."

Harriet leaned back in her chair, and finally admitted, "I'm the one who voted against Clove, Cato, not Felix. She isn't ready yet, and until she is, involving her in anything has a severe degree of risk." She then added, "I didn't factor for the amount of codependency between the two of you and for that I'm sorry, but my observation sticks."

Cato rolled his eyes, perfectly aware they'd have been gouged out if he'd been talking to Clove. "We are not codependent."

"You're never going to be happy if you don't accept that right now this is for the best."

He put his hands together and gravely remarked, "Trust me, none of this has ever been about happiness."

* * *

"They lost 286 men. Estimates say that's as much as ⅓ of their command," Clove informed her father boisterously.

Lieutenant Holloway looked at his daughter, unimpressed. "We still lost 14 officials who will need to be retrieved. You were careless, Clove."

The distress on his daughter's face only bothered him. Why had they taken one of his only prized possessions and put her in such a precarious situation? "Arrogance is unbecoming. You may be famous now that your face is on every single television channel, but-"

"Fame isn't worth a thing. I want Cato back, and I want him back now."

Clove's father crossed his arms, and said flatly, "Your boyfriend isn't in any danger. We've already assessed that he wasn't taken hostage, nor held against his will. More than likely, he is adequately safe whatever his circumstances may be."

Cross, Clove clarified, "I think you misunderstand, _sir_. Cato isn't _in_ danger. He is the danger. Pretty, skilled, smart. One false step and he'll tear the whole place down."

"Just because you're so taken by Prince Charming doesn't mean everyone else is," Lieutenant Holloway challenged. "They've yet to use him as a symbol and I doubt they will. In fact, the counter movement doesn't have a symbol, doesn't have a spokesman, only a leader, and a very smart one at that. There is only so much time left."

"Then tell me what to do!" Clove pleaded, "I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

Lieutenant Holloway hesitated, adjusting his daughter's posture slightly and muttered, "It's not your problem to fix."

"Just... just get some rest and regroup in the morning," he said gruffly, failing to meet her eyes.

If they could pull this off, if they could make this shot in the dark work, then maybe he'd get her back. His wife had told him that regrets were for the old and postmortem, and that left the forty-year-old man wondering if that was where he was headed - towards an early grave.

Lieutenant Holloway watched as the girl with his humor, but her mother's heart trailed away, exhausted and disenfranchised. Her hazel eyes looked back to him hopefully for a moment and he realized where he'd made his first mistake. And what a mistake to make.

Clove had inherited her mother's endless determination too.

* * *

August, 75

Panic spread throughout Nero's lungs. Fire blazed overhead, charring the electrical wires layered throughout the base's ceiling. There was a loud cackle, followed by a massive boom.

Instantly, the base darkened. Several men cried out, trying to clear the air and reinstate order, but it was too late. "Run!" a few cried as they were bombarded by falling lights, shaking wires, and broken glass.

"Nero, take them and run!" Lieutenant Holloway commanded, pushing him and a few others into a small, circular opening.

Nero felt around the edge of the frame, trying to hang onto the edge. Behind him, another body laid in queue. "Wait! What is this?" He called out to his uncle, trying to keep himself from sliding down the tunnel and into the awaiting abyss.

"Move, move, move!"

"Go!" his uncle repeated and pushed the bodies down the chute.

He hit the ground hard and began coughing as the stale and musty air rose around him. Before he had time to analyze the predated weapons hanging from the walls, he heard a stifled groan. In his discord, he'd forgotten about Clove. He pulled her up, making sure to keep her and their other companion, Dicey, safe.

"Everyone okay?" Nero asked shakily.

Dicey nodded, dusting himself and looking around curiously, "What is this place?"

Right as Nero was about to make his guess, Clove interrupted.

"I can hear the traitors," Clove said with a devious smile. Dicey and Nero leaned their ears against the wall, picking up the sounds overhead. Not bothering to dust herself off, Clove stood with a hellish smirk. In Clove's left hand was the threatening rifle, with a select bunch of knives in her right. "Pitiful that their last moments will spent wondering why they fought for a lost cause."

The dark-haired girl stalked forward, both boys on her tail as she headed towards the front lines.

Amidst the clutter, the trio waded, and rushed up the stairs. Once they opened the door, they saw an inferno blazing overhead, smoke drowning many of the fleeing Capitol soldiers out, but even in the distance the trio saw those that remained fighting against the rebel invaders.

As she looked at the frayed wires, Clove pieced it all together. It was easy to see that the fire had been initiated there. The rebels had probably meant only to short-circuit the wires, render the base unusable, but they'd failed. As had become a pattern for the novice scum, they'd gone a touch too heavy and set the entire structure alight.

They'd soon regret that course of action. Infiltrating the Capitol soldiers' base was a heavy mistake.

It was amongst the chaos that she spotted the raven-haired nineteen year old. She didn't doubt for a second this mess was his doing. "I should have figured you were a part of this. You've always been a cowardly rat bastard."

He gave her a dangerous smirk in return, "You don't want to give me the opportunity to tear you down, H."

Clove went to stab him, surprising him with her directness, when he maneuvered himself out of her grasp. The knife grazed the side of his abdomen and he hissed. Felix fell back, picking up his war hammer and yanking it out of her reach. The minute his weapon made impact with Clove's rib, she fell back, gasping.

It was a non-lethal hit and they both knew it, but doubt still clouded his eyes as he watched her suffer through it.

Testily, he shot, "Histrionics don't suit you. Let's your hope your soldiers are loyal enough to save your vindictive ass."

Ready to bury Felix, her hand twitched, and she groaned, but was soon distracted by something much more important. She picked herself off the ground, gritting her teeth, and smirked. "Well, well, well, Cato Elroy: victor, rebel, traitor."

"Clove," the blonde breathed in surprise.

The blonde looked healthy, uninjured, well-fed, mentally-stable. Maybe she _was_ vindictive, because her initial reaction was disappointment.

"I forgot another one," she screamed, tackling him to the ground. "Cato Elroy: corpse!"

Cato barely dodged the edge of the of onslaught of knives. He struggled for a moment, before she raked her nails down his face. Seconds later, he managed to fix both hands into a stronghold, effectively stopping her assault.

Spitting on him, Clove grit out, "Give me one reason I'm shouldn't cut you up into a million pieces right now."

_I'm used to people I trust hurting me. I just didn't think you'd have to be one of them._

He tried to rack his brain for a solution. It should have been easy, but when he looked at it from Clove's perspective, Cato kept coming up short. "Because then we'll never know who has the highest kill count."

For a moment, the nastiness in her eyes was gone, replaced by immature contempt. "Pretty sure if I kill you I win."

"Do you really want to end the game this early, Clovey?" he asked, giving her a half-grin from under her, wincing at the the scratches marring his face.

Her eyes narrowed violently. He let go of her hands and watched her intently, looking almost disappointed, hurt. Clove raised her right arm to strike, when she was pulled off of him.

"You don't disobey a direct command!" Lieutenant Holloway barked. "You stupid fucking kids need to retreat now!"

Right as Clove was about snap in her defense, Lieutenant Holloway snatched a fleeing Felix by the edge of his shoulder and demanded, "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" He pulled Felix away and Cato leaped to his feet, ready to aid his comrade, but Felix gave him a dirty look as he was dragged away by the lieutenant.

Before Cato had time to wonder why Felix was refusing his help, a girl from his unit stood before the group - Cato, Clove, Dicey, and Nero - her gun positioned directly at them. It was then Cato realized her eyes were lingering spitefully at Clove.

As soon as Dicey realized so, he grabbed Clove's arm. Debris fell from the ceiling, nearly crushing them all as the smoke continued to spread. Nero looked at the rebel, who stood menacingly with her gun aimed at Clove's back. "Run!" he commanded of the trio.

Dicey pulled Clove away, sprinting away from the rebel as quickly as he could.

The rebel closed in on the remaining duo.

Nero pushed Cato away from her line of fire and blocked the exit. Cato tumbled forward, barely regaining his footing when Nero screamed out, "Make sure Clove stays safe!"

Dazed, Cato followed after Clove and Dicey, inhaling more smoke as he tried to keep up with the pair. Right as he hit daylight, he heard a bang and turned back just in time to see Nero sink to his knees, a gaping wound in his chest.

* * *

**AN** - The Quarter Quell would have feature tributes of all ages related to past victors. For District Two, Clove's cousin (Nero, 18) and Wyatt Almoy's daughter (Brooke, 4) were reaped. In districts where the victor has no family, then the family of the deceased victors were also eligible. Cato and Clove had been apart about 4 and a half months.

Someone accused me of making this alternate ending tragic. I would defend myself, but then I think about the next chapter and I'm like... uh, yeahhh.

Chapter Questions: Who surprised you most this chapter? Who do you think has been affected the most by the war? What do you hope to see in the remaining chapters?

Leave me your answers in a **review**! I'll post the next chapter when we hit 225 (:


	58. The Reunion of Broken Parts

Recovery is something that you have to work on every single day and it's something that doesn't get a day off.

- Demi Lovato

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 9/12

* * *

The Synergy Movement and the oppressive rulers at the Capitol had a few things in common. They had both taken battered, broken youth and melded them into hardened soldiers, but although these youth had long suffered through many a grave injustice, they'd always found solace in clinging onto the oldest of the bonds, the strongest of bonds, and that had always been to each other.

Cato was gunning towards his fallen friend when a hand snatched the blonde's arm and dragged him away to safety. Nero heard the screams of protest as whoever had taken hold of Cato struggled to hold him away from the entrance.

Nero was only vaguely aware of the ruins collapsing around him as the chaos continued despite his disorientation. The smoke made it difficult to catch a single breath.

Fire cackled, smoking many of the Capitol soldiers out.

"Nero!"

After trying and failing to focus his vision on the path ahead, he nearly fell forward, when a pair of muscular arms steadied him. "Easy, easy, son."

"I'm going to find you a medic. Just... just relax."

His uncle's steady arms held him in place, before reorienting him to lean his back against the lieutenant's chest. Though more comfortable it didn't change the fact that Felix was to his right in full-fledged panic mode.

"I told you not to get yourself killed!"

Nero would have explained life didn't work that way, but decided against doing so. In Felix's eyes, once a statement was made it became a legally-binding contract. His stomach lurched, which only briefly took the pain away from the gaping wound in his chest as he asked, "I'm dying?"

_I promised mom I'd come home. _

"Course not, asshole." Felix's tears hit his cheeks.

_Why are you crying, then?_

Nero reached clumsily for Felix's face_, _haphazardly trying to wipe away his tears. Hoarsely, he said, "Don't cry. You won."

Lieutenant Holloway inspected his wound, instructing him to conserve his energy. The eighteen year old felt like a child again, safe in the arms of the only man who'd ever believed his so-called compassion was a strength ("But you can't cry for all of em. Most don't deserve your tears.") and not a weakness.

Nero had never known his father, but had still been lucky enough to grow up with two parents.

"You think I give a fuck-" Felix barked hysterically. "-Give a fuck about winning if you die? I hate you! I fucking hate you!"

His uncle scowled and pushed Felix away. "Shut the fuck up, kid!"

Nero's skin became cold, his face losing its pallor, and he softly plead, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying!"

By the glassy, defeated look in his uncle's eyes, Nero knew he wouldn't make it through the night.

Oh, but there were so many things he'd left unsaid, and not enough time to say what needed to be.

"I wasn't worth it," Nero apologized, struggling to maintain a steady breath. _I'm sorry I wasted what you gave me._

Blood ran down the side of his uniform, staining the attire a scarlet red before making it's way to the metallic floor beneath him. Felix shook his head, new tears pricking the corner of his eyes, and Nero thought of the eight year old boy who'd hidden in corners and cried alone after his parents had died, how he'd always denied the fact ("I'm not crying!").

As his uncle pressed his hands against the bleeding injury, Nero found himself unable to muster the energy to inform the middle-aged man that he risked infection by pressing his dirty hands to an open wound. For every injury his uncle taught him to inflict, his mother had taught him to nurse one back to health.

While never ungrateful, he'd never been particularly gracious either.

"I never got to see the finished garden," Nero complained, as if he'd forgotten to lock the door before leaving home or had forgotten to pick up a cooking ingredient at the market. All that fucking effort forcing Felix and Aniston together and he'd never seen the fruits of their labor.

"We'll make a hundred and one, An and me. All the gardens you want, Nee," Felix replied. "Two of us actually make a pretty good team."

With Felix's prickly, acerbic personality that might as well have been considered a marriage proposal of its own.

As they spoke, Lieutenant Holloway screamed for a medic to come to their aid, but the men and women continued to flee as another pillar fell to the ground and blanketed them in an additional layer of dust.

_Clove. Save Clove. I'm a lost cause. _

"Don't let them hurt Clove," Nero moaned, his breathing accelerated as the wound continued to bleed from under his uncle's hands.

It was the same old mantra - duty for duty's sake. It was one of the things that Felix simultaneously loved and loathed about him. "Clove's plenty safe," Felix growled.

"No, listen-" He began to cough hard, exacerbating his wound even more and further staining his uncle's fingertips with blood. "-threatened Nelly." Nero tried to take another breath to form a cohesive sentence, but started wheezing, "Snow did. He did it, Fi."

_Call me 'Fi_' _one more time and I'll punch your lights out! the eight-year-old threatened, scowling at the bamboozled blue-eyed boy. _

"Thought I told you not to call me that," Felix said without thinking.

"No exemptions for the dead and the dying, you fucking pain-in-the-ass?" Nero snapped, letting out a nasty wheeze at the end of his retort.

Lieutenant Holloway didn't know whether to be impressed that his nephew had made it through an entire sentence or to be bothered that Nero's last gasps of air were about President Snow.

Felix let out a laugh, the tears continuing down his face. Even in his last moments, Nero was always a Holloway at heart. The lieutenant wondered if any moment now, he'd die a second death of grief.

"Snow said..." Nero briefly lost his train of thought, letting out a hiss of pain. "He said he'd kill Nelly if Clove didn't get Cato." Nero closed his eyes, wincing, and wondering why he'd never learned how to self-treat wounds. "That's why... she cried. That's why I came along - because she needed me."

Felix coughed as the smoke intensified. He cried out for help, offering himself in exchange as he tried to help Lieutenant Holloway stop the bleeding, but the base had been all but abandoned. His heart sunk into his stomach.

Lieutenant Holloway held Nero like a young child, stroking his soaked hair, and giving him gentle praises of bravery, honor, and kindness. "Your bravery is admirable, soldier."

Tears streamed down Nero's cheeks at the poignant praise.

"Now take a break. You've earned it, earned so-" his uncle's resolve broke, a sob stuck in his throat.

Felix wanted to scream out that none of it mattered, but forced himself not to make Nero's last breaths about all _his_ feelings, _his_ hurts, _his_ regrets. To Nero, nothing mattered more than dignity and courage, and how he'd always felt he fell short of both.

Nero found Felix's left hand and gave it a firm, supportive squeeze. "Just... don't let Snow get away with it." His wound bled increasingly out of control, leaving Nero to realize his time was rather limited. So, he looked at Felix with a hard edge and demanded, "Wreck the bastard."

"Easy," Felix replied, a storm of ferocity in his eyes, as tears streaked down his cheeks.

Nero closed his eyes. "Good," he voiced, relieved, succumbing to rest as his uncle kissed the crown of his head, whispering sweet nothings. _Good._

_'Um...Nero, what's honor?'_

_'Being good for mom, I think, and protecting her. No lying or cheating. Being in the Hunger Games, that's gotta have like sixty-six points of honor, right? And being brave and strong, because that's what it means to be a man.'_

To Nero, nothing mattered more than dignity and courage, and how he'd always felt he fell short of both. But he could rest easy, knowing that he'd finally achieved both, if only for a moment.

* * *

Clove didn't have a clue what the fuck was happening, but there'd be hell to pay once she figured it out. Dicey had ambushed her into the hovercraft and subsequently prevented her from escape. When she struggled against him, he found the same pressure point she'd used against him as children, rendering her unconscious.

When she awoke, disheveled, and without knowing where the hell the rickety hovercraft was supposed to be headed and with the news that Nero hadn't made it, she nearly imploded. One rebel soldier had offhandedly referenced District Thirteen. As fucking if. She might_ look _dead, but she wasn't buried quite yet.

They'd left her to simmer without a word. Too bad their curious eyes refused to leave her furious form. "What the fuck are you staring at?"

The battered and broken rebel soldiers only looked to one another, refusing to say much, until one looked to Clove's father and spat, "We didn't know _he_ was your father. Have to wonder how good of a leader he'll be with you as a liability."

"I am not a liability for anyone!"

"To the Synergy Movement? Fuck yes, you are," the soldier challenged magnanimously.

Cato looked up from his perpetual expression of misery and only asked, exhausted, "What the hell is going on?"

"Lieutenant Holloway is secondary leader for the Synergy Movement, our second triad," Felix said, a ghost of a whisper on his tongue. He looked faintly to the frail girl hiding in the corner amongst her grief and then back to his burns covering his arms. "With Lyme no longer with us, he is first command. Welcome to the revolution, folks."

Dicey, Cato, and Clove's eyes all flashed in surprised as a sickening understanding descended upon them.

Tears of anger filled Clove's eyes and Cato gently grabbed her hand, "Clove-"

"No!" she screeched out, scooting away from the collective as if she'd been doused in acid. The seventeen year old began to rock herself back and forward as she half-sobbed, half-screamed at her father, "Nero died and you're willing to carry on the torch of his killers!"

"I fought for your freedom. For the freedom of us all," Lieutenant Holloway said coldly. "You were always going to be under Capitol rule, and that isn't something I want for my child."

Clove made a sound of dismay. "Oh how fucking wonderful for me. From one cattle herder to another. I'll remember to be grateful."

"Maybe you should be. You could have died, Clove!" Dicey snapped.

Her eyes flashed angrily, "You left Nero to die because your life was more important than his. You did this! You forced me onto this hovercraft and betrayed us all. So tell me, Dicey, how long have you been on their side?"

He was quiet, didn't deny the accusation. "My loyalty is to those who are loyal to me."

Clove's barely contained rage unnerved him as she spat, "Then lets just forget how many times Nero took care of you. Your loyalty isn't to those loyal to you. Sure sounds fucking pretty, though. No, your loyalty is to whatever is convenient for your childish whims."

"I didn't know he would die, Clo," Dicey reasoned, trying to swallow the lump in his throat as tears welled up in his eyes. On some small level, he felt she was right. He'd been reckless.

Clove let out a cruel, pained laugh. "I'll make sure they engrave that on his tombstone."

Dicey was beautiful in his disintegration.

"Stop," Lieutenant Holloway ordered. "Kid might be dumb, but he's not spiteful. It wasn't anyone's fault but those who set us at war."

There was a murmur of assent from the soldiers. Clove had forgotten about them in her blind rage, and felt even more foolish as she cradled her knees against her.

A familiar grasp took hold of her and began stroking the back of her hand gently.

Tears continued to cloud her eyes. How badly she wanted to cave in and accept the comfort, but Clove pulled away and began beating on his chest. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I even do to you!"

Felix gave her a spiteful look, shaking her shoulders. "What happened to the Clove who was willing to defy the Capitol and sacrifice herself so someone else could get a second chance at a new life?"

She gave him a venomous look and he added gruffly, speaking almost too quickly. "I had to try, Little H, or I was going to be stuck as a Capitol fuck toy for the rest of my life. Do you know how fucking scary it is to be afraid every single thing you say, every touch, every single thing you do might end with your friends dead in some 'unpreventable' accident!"

Clove's eyes widened in surprise, a novel innocence that made him feel bad for how bluntly he'd spoken.

"Not everyone gets lucky enough to win the games with the love of their life, and you did, and yet you're still willing to throw that all away. Come back down to normal, H. You're not stupid, but you're sure good at playing like you are."

"What are you talking about?" Clove demanded. "I want to go home. Take me home right now! I'm tired of this game and I want to go home now!"

She got her feet, looking to Cato, who barely made eye contact with her and then darted towards the emergency escape door.

Two soldiers caught her before she made it to the edge, forming a barricade. A crazed look haunted her hazel eyes. "Let me go!" Clove screeched.

"She needs to be sedated, sir."

"Let me go! Let me go!"

Clove was dragged to the edge of the opposite wall by the soldiers, and received by her father. She curled up in a fetal position against her father's chest as sobs wracked her body. The lieutenant sent a warning look to the soldiers and allowed Clove to cry against him.

Too much was happening all at once. They'd made one step forward, but a dozen or so back.

Oh, but time was running out and there were things to be done.

* * *

Perhaps Clove was right. They had traded one holding cell for another. Every hour in District Thirteen was dictated by a swatch of ink on your arm and modifications rarely came cheap.

Their command had asked him to be soldier on guard overnight and he wondered to himself what there was to guard against, considering how obedient residents of Thirteen were. To make things even better, when he wasn't working or sleeping, they were run ragged by the intensive physical training prescribed to them.

So, Dicey stood in the corridor waiting for intruders each night, but no one ever beckoned into the abandoned hallway. That is until one impossibly late hour a few weeks into their stay.

"Path's off limits."

The wavy-haired brunette smiled at him, not bothering to look guilty despite having been caught breaking a half-dozen rules all at once. "Don't you ever get hungry on watch?"

He studied the teenaged girl carefully. "Nothing I ain't used to."

She frowned at him. "That can't do. How effective of a guard will you be if you're not at prime health?"

"Look, I get it. You're hungry. Go to bed, get some rest, and in the morning you'll have breakfast before school. Hell, you should be grateful you're still in school."

"Actually, I already finished school."

Dicey arched a brow, "You look like you could have gone to school with my little sister."

He didn't mention his sister was also a half-foot taller, too.

The girl gave him a cheeky smile, "I had more important things to learn, but I learned pretty quick that it's hard to do anything on an empty stomach."

Subtly clearly was not a part of her routine, but as the wall behind her blurred a bit, Dicey felt himself in agreement. He blinked, touching his face, and nodded slightly. "Just this once-"

"Alright. What's your name anyways, soldier?"

"Dicey," the auburn-haired teen replied halfheartedly.

"Well, I appreciate your help Soldier Dicey."

Still weary, he corrected, "Soldier Wilder. First name: Dicey."

"Most soldiers in Thirteen this informal, sir?"

What game was she playing now? No one called him 'sir' and he didn't feel comfortable with any power dichotomy that would require as much.

"Not exactly from around here," Dicey remarked, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes. The young girl was cute, optimistic, friendly, and 100% full of shit. The redhead fully intended to find out what was behind the mask. "And your name?"

"Harriet."

"You're not from around here either, are you?" He asked, smirking slightly at the way she walked, as if bouncing around on a cloud. She definitely wasn't from around there - not with the baby fat around her waist and the flush in her cheeks. She actually looked somewhat healthy. Thirteen only looked 'adequate' "So where are you from, firecracker?"

Harriet looked back at him, slightly troubled, and quickly fibbed. "Nowhere important."

"So, like District Twelve?"

"No." she said simply, continuing her dance-walking. "Somewhere far less homely."

Dicey wouldn't have called District Twelve homely in any sense. Maybe she was referencing the pine trees and the flurry of snow, but even that seemed unpleasant when he thought about district's apparent lack of technology. "Like District Ten?" he asked, thinking of the drove of livestock, and grimacing.

Harriet stopped her motions, "Two, actually."

"Don't be so quick to sell out your district. It's all you have left," he admonished lightly.

His first instinct was to ask what region she was from, but she interrupted his thoughts, "You're right. Sorry."

When they'd been younger, Cato and Clove had lectured him several times, telling him apologizing was cheap - a weakness - because it signified remorse, and remorse was for the indecisive.

"I just miss home. At least I knew where I stood, then," Harriet added.

Maybe it was the delirious exhaustion overwhelming him, but Dicey was so tired of whatever game he'd become a part of. He wasn't a _soldier. _He was an eighteen year old kid from Two West who enjoyed baseball, making fun of bad films, and retelling funny anecdotes. He was good with a spear, but surely there was more to it than that.

Watching the teenage girl before him made him realize how much he'd lost and how much he didn't want anyone else to lose it.

"I think I got just the thing you're looking for." Dicey pulled a golden bracelet off of his wrist and snapped it onto hers. "Friend of mine gave me that. "

"The tribute bracelet," Harriet breathed, stunned. "Which friend?"

And that was the question, because each of his friends had been a tribute for Two at some point or another. At one point, that would have carried major bragging points. Now it was just a foreshadowing of something bleak, as if to say you can escape once, but you don't get lucky twice.

"Figuring that out is up to you," he teased as he led her to the kitchens. With a stirring of carefree mischief, Dicey smiled, and leaned his arms behind his head, "Come on."

* * *

September had used to be his reprieve, a rested, shadier environment for them all.

Now Cato suffered from a miserable, gut-wrenching, guilt-wracking knotting of his stomach that never ebbed. He hadn't even known he could feel so strongly about anyone besides Clove. He was surprised by how much he missed Nero, though not surprised at the conditions of their friendships. Nero had always been the glue, the peacemaker.

Funny, considering their environment growing up.

Bless his father for trying, but Cato couldn't help but to feel indignant when he thought of how many times he'd beat him as a child and how most times Nero had been the one to put him back together. It felt wrong to accept his help now, disrespectful to his friend's memory.

It was hard to go it alone. Felix had immersed himself in the third component of Lyme's original strategy, while Dicey had shut down and let the guilt consume him whole. Cato had always expected their reunion to be a happier, exhilarating rush. That had always been the plan between Dicey and him - bringing Clove to the _right _side - and returning to their old routine as a band of brothers, but his miscalculation had reaped consequences of its own.

Hazel was closing in on a year old come December and had become sick, colicky, leaving the him increasingly worried about the splotches across her cheeks. Oliver and Brooke seemed healthy enough, considering the conditions in Thirteen. Watching Felix try to care for a needy, dependent little girl would have been hysterical if he didn't think one day the man would combust and destroy her in a fit of anger.

Once in awhile Cato saw Clove getting her meals, conversing solely with her father, but only in short, precise sentences.

The third day they'd been in District Thirteen, she'd held onto to her butter knife with such intensity the guards had revoked the _privilege_ and she'd been forced to eat with forks and spoons only. He later heard Dicey say that Clove's tirade had been about - what else - her sister.

Lieutenant Holloway had been quick to his feet assuring her that her sister was somewhere safe, but never saying any more. A few more days passed before Clove demanded to know the whereabouts of fourteen year old Magnilda Holloway. The look in her eyes alone nearly burnt District Thirteen to ashes when his reply had been 'Indra Wilder'

Dicey hadn't been pleased, either, to learn that his mother had trained for the games when she'd always gone around letting him and his siblings think she hadn't, but he'd made sure to inform Clove that Callan would protect them all, and that he'd been training Halle on the side for years.

Sixteen days had passed and Cato had given Clove space, given her all that he could by removing himself from any conflict, but it'd grown unbearable without her.

So on the sixteenth evening he found her returning to her bunker and pulled her aside.

"We need to talk."

He said it almost self-deprecatingly as if he knew he sounded like a cliche from every bad Capitol movie they'd ever seen (which totaled up to about three, maybe four).

"Sounds like the bad beginning to a bad breakup," Clove replied.

There was certain relief that her initial response hadn't been anger.

Looking at her now - dull, lifeless, a totally different visual from the girl he'd gazed longingly at while she painted - made him feel like he'd misused a trio of high quality knives and ruined the handles, ruined something dangerous and beautiful.

"Not a chance," Cato hesitated, before moving forward and running his fingers through her hair distractedly. Clove didn't protest, so he brushed his lips against her forehead, and trailed off, "I just..."

He imagined this was how addicts felt before a relapse.

"I just wanted to tell you that I really am sorry, but I'm done making excuses. So, if you ever need me, I am here for you any time, any day, for any reason, no questions asked."

Clove contemplated the words silently. It was a tempting offer, and she despised her weakness, wanting nothing more than to fall into his arms and ask him why he'd left her when they'd made so much progress.

"And what if I don't want your services?"

The blonde looked stumped, but by the accusatory flicker in her eyes, Cato knew this was all but a test. With Clove that was pretty standard. She enjoyed testing boundaries and pushing others past their limits.

"That's your choice, Clove," Cato admitted honestly, rubbing his neck uneasily. "I... I want to be deserving of you, and I am going to prove to you that I can stand up as a man and protect my family. No more excuses. So if that takes time, then whatever, I'll wait."

Her skepticism hurt, but Cato knew he deserved all that and more.

Clove crossed her arms, and spoke tightly, but not meanly. "You seem so sure I'll come crawling back."

An cocky smirk came over him "Under that 120 pounds of skin, bones, and ferocity is the kindest person I know."

Clove snorted at that, because Cato was definitely the only person gullible enough in the world to think so. "For now, I will wait, because god knows you've waited long enough."

"Cato..." Clove called out, then looked away indecisively, "Never mind."

He gave her a brief glance of encouragement. "You can trust me, Clovey."

"Can I?" she asked, and boy if it didn't break his heart at the sound of her defeat. Clove studied him for a moment, wondering if they'd ever pick up where they last left off, and decided it was another day's problem. Turning back to him, Clove only said, "I'll think about it."

* * *

"What's the next phase?" one of the young soldiers asked, following Harriet in line the next morning. She took her share of the slop District Thirteen tried to pass off as food and arched her brows, slightly on edge.

"Soldier Exal, I've told you, I don't know. The Synergy Movement is dead, gone, capiche."

The brown-haired teen smirked. "We're not dead, so it's not dead."

Harriet admired his nerve, but sighed. "Look, Isaiah, I like you. A lot actually. Like, I used to have a major crush on you, but as a movement we no longer exist. We're a part of District Thirteen now and they call the shots."

Isaiah crossed his arms, smirking slightly. "You know I'm gay, right?"

_And sixteen is a couple years too young for me too.  
_

"Thanks for making me relive the pain of when I first found out."

He then redirected, "So, what, we're going to let these rugrats lead us? We're District Two, kid, no one knows how to fight harder than us."

Harriet leaned back. "Well, when my mother decided her loyalty to her comrades was stronger than to her daughter, that's when I ducked out. I can't help you."

"C'mon, Harriet. Lyme didn't give her life up for nothing. I know you. I've seen you with that Capitol soldier. You have to have something up your sleeve."

A moment of silence passed, before Harriet looked him dead in the eye, and rubbed the palms of her hands together. She only gave him a lazy smirk, "Someone does - but it's not me."

* * *

"Son of a-" Clove cursed, rubbing the red mark across her face from where the door had made impact.

Felix crossed his arms, wiping away the surprise on his face and replacing it with a knowing expression. "S'what you get for being a sneak, H."

"Lemme guess. You came here to tell me how much of a bad boy I've been. Nah, ah, ah. You're here to ask if what I said is true."

"I'm not blind, Felix. I know it's true. The question is how long have you been keeping it from us?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Why do you care anyways?"

"Clove Holloway doesn't do personal debts."

So _that_ was her angle.

"As much as I'd love for _you _to owe _me_, there's not much you can really do unless you want to rehash the games, be my mentor, and sell yourself for a month to get me allergy pills and trail mix, and hell maybe you could throw in a box of tampons and a platter of cookies too."

"Why would you let them do that to you, Hoodlum? You could destroy those plastic-y motherfuckers in a second," Clove replied, looking genuinely hurt for him as she grabbed his hand and tugged him back.

"Same reason you joined Snow's men," he said harshly, uncomfortable with the sympathy the dark-haired girl exuded. The aura was all wrong. Pity was one thing he didn't need.

Her face darkened and he saw just enough fight and defiance to grab hold of.

"I should have figured something fucked up was behind you joining them. Nee died telling me and I'm not letting his sacrifice go unavenged."

Clove ran a hand through her hair at the mention of his name. "You really are the dumbest fuck I've ever met, but damn if you don't have some guts."

And she didn't want to think of what he'd done every time he was whisked away to Capitol by his suitors, didn't want to think about how it could have been Cato, how it could have been any of them, and how once was enough to fuck up Cato, but for it to be so regular, so part of your routine, made her sick and willed her to forgive Felix, if only temporarily.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It's not," Clove clarified.

"I'll take what I can get," Felix shot back, flicking the back of her head. "And I've found out how you can fix things, H."

She stared at him defiantly, daringly, waiting for his stupid, irrational demands.

Dramatically, he extended his arms, and said in a condescending tone, "Work your shit out with Cato."

If it'd been anyone else on the receiving end, she'd have laughed. Instead, she found it hard to resist decking him in the face. _Slow breaths. Slow breaths. _

"What, so I don't have the right to be mad anymore?"

Exasperated, he replied, "Be mad, but stop acting like Cato did all of this on his own, because he didn't, and you know it. Cato and I were always going to keep you covered, because believe it or not, there are people who actually care about you and you can't shut them out forever."

It was a twisted day when Felix Grey played sage.

Oh how soft-hearted she'd become, because although Clove had yet to turn a new leaf, she knew the clock was ticking. Her bitterness would long outlast Cato's resolve to make amends and damn if she didn't hate herself for wanting him by her side even after the stunt he'd pulled.

And thinking of what Felix had endured only put everything into perspective. If she hadn't been at his side throughout the games, if she hadn't been reaped, Cato could have been in the same spot, and even though he betrayed her trust, she couldn't stand the thought of someone doing that to him.

"On one condition."

Felix cocked his head to the side and waited.

"You let me in on whatever the fuck you've been obsessing over the last three weeks."

A depraved smirk lit up his face and he slung an arm around her shoulder. _Bingo._

"Welcome back, H. Let's get to work."

* * *

**AN **- Nero's death occurs in early August, shortly before he would have been nineteen. Felix is 19, Cato/Dicey are 18, Clove is 17. The end of this chapter takes place in early September. The Victory Tour was from December 74 until February 75, and Felix/Cato left in March.

Someone asked if the chapters have been pre-written. No, but I do have an outline that I am following, so I have some idea when I begin each chapter.

**Please Review**! Encouragement and feedback is really appreciated, especially because I got stuck on this chapter about a hundred times, and how much time it took to write it. the next chapter has a lot of cool things going on, too ;)


	59. The Spark

We were the kings and queens of promise.  
We were the victims of ourselves  
Maybe the children of a lesser god.  
Between heaven and hell.

- 30 Seconds to Mars, "Kings and Queens"

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 10/12

* * *

October, 75

As the petite girl rounded the corner, bouncing on her toes, a smile spread across her face. "You are so predictable. I knew you'd be here, Soldier Wilder."

"You mean you were lucky I was there. Otherwise, who'd get you out of trouble if you were caught sneaking food?"

"Are you calling me fat?" Harriet mocked.

"Nah," Dicey winked. "I think you're cute."

She smirked. "Now you're suggesting fat people can't be cute."

"Rather have a full stomach and be fat than the itty bitty fucker I used to be. They called me Skin and Bones, ya know. But about six months before I left, things suddenly got better. Mom had enough money to go around and I finally stopped looking like some ugly motherfucker's scarecrow," he replied. Then, he added, "So yes, people can be fat and be cute, not that you're fat."

The doe-eyed girl studied him. Dicey was rugged, with reddish-brown hair long enough to hang around his face, but not entirely unmanageable. He was a bit on the short side, but still a good half-foot taller than herself, and lean. Conventionally-handsome he was not, but there was an unexpected kindness he radiated, and she was fascinated by it.

He smiled at her unease, "You can always call it quits."

Harriet grinned, breaking out of her stupor and waving him off. "Nonsense. A growing girl's gotta eat."

Neither voiced that their routine hadn't ever actually been about food.

Harriet found herself tempted to tell Dicey that his stance was all wrong, that a soldier should straighten their shoulders and maintain posture. It was hard to remember that that wasn't her responsibility anymore. He'd been the Capitol's man anyway, and she wondered to herself what the Capitol had said to entrance him in the first place.

Surely he knew what atrocities they'd committed before he'd joined. He didn't look like he'd been enlisted long enough to see the Capitol's true colors.

"Your roommate still being a pain?"

Harriet shook her head, exasperated. "It's like sharing your room with a bitchy older sister, except your older sister is a slob who likes to leave her weapons laying on your bed."

He laughed, thinking of Callan and feeling slightly nostalgic. "Friend to friend, Harriet, don't sweat the small stuff. Cut her some slack and focus on yourself for now."

There was a crinkle in her cheeks, "We're friends?"

Dicey gave her a quirky grin, almost sad at how excited she seemed by the statement. "I don't usually spend night after night with the same girl for nothing, firecracker."

"Yeah, we are friends. Aren't we?" Her demeanor brightened and she gave him a winning smile. "Well, if we're friends then why don't you tell me something, Soldier Wilder?"

"Dicey," he chided, frowning.

"Soldier Dicey, yeah, yeah. Whatever." Harriet's voice softened and she asked, "What made you change your mind about the Capitol - about wanting to be a part of the rebellion?"

For a moment, she thought he was going to go off on her, but he only said solemnly, "I realized what I stood to lose if I didn't get out. What sucks is that I lost a lot just getting here anyway."

_Me too, _Harriet thought.

"My turn, then. Since we're friends and all," Dicey repeated. "How'd you finish school so early?"

"My mom..." Harriet paused, avoiding eye contact. "She thought I had more important things to do than focus on something as petty as high school, so she accelerated my education and focused the remaining time on learning to interpret."

"How to interpret what?"

Harriet looked uncomfortable. "All sorts of things I'm not at liberty to discuss, but I guess I was lucky I finished school at all. Maybe if I'd gone to a real high school, I'd have made friends. Now it's just me in this big world, all on my own, and it's scary sometimes."

"What, am I a card in your pocket? You're not alone. I happen to be very good company."

Why-oh-why hadn't she been allowed to assimilate with normal sixteen-year-olds? She didn't know how to handle this. The dark-haired girl forced herself to assume a poker face, but noticed that he had the same flush across his cheeks.

With a twinkle in her eyes, she walked beside him, and made a mental checklist.

_Focus, Harriet. He is just a boy. Just think of what'd mom say if she saw you now! _

A resigned look crossed her face. _Get it together. He's just a boy. Just a boy. Just... ugh. _

* * *

"Tell me you're not having another late night."

Harriet leaned against the wall, not saying anything. She burrowed into her pillows, letting out a yawn. No, today would not be another late night. Several hours in a roundtable discussion with Felix Grey and the triad was enough to push her into a state of slumber once her back hit the mattress.

She closed her eyes.

"I was talking to you, Sweetpea!"

Harriet roused from her sleep, pouting over the pillow that had been snatched from her very arms. "Not another late night. Tryin' to sleep."

"Good, because starting today, if you try to pull anymore in-and-outs at four am, I'll pull a Drey Holland and then use your remaining blood to give this room a new paint job."

Harriet huffed, "Ever thought of going to a listening doctor?"

Clove smirked patronizingly. "I've always been an instant gratification sort of girl."

"Clearly," Harriet mumbled, lying back against the bed frame.

The two settled into their beds, with Harriet letting out a sigh. Clove yanked the cord on the lamp and darkness found them both.

* * *

Where the hell was she?

Every night they found each other in the same corner and went about their evening.

But this was her room, wasn't it? She'd said her room was furthest left and out of view. He hesitated, unsure of whether to take the initiative or whether he'd be bothering her.

Dicey knocked lightly on the door. No response came. Worry knotted his stomach. What if something bad happened to her? Harriet was such a flighty character it was hard to imagine her pulling herself out of a dangerous situation.

He knocked harder and this time the door opened.

It took him a second to mask his horror. _She said her roommate was a girl who leaves weapons lying around, surrounded by mess. Does that sound familiar, you idiot? _he asked himself.

"It's pretty late, Dicey," Clove lamented, blinking at fluorescent, well-lit hallway in contrast to the blanket of darkness covering her own.

The redhead nodded apologetically, resisting the urge to cling onto her. "How are you holding up, Clo?"

She came into his arms, surprising him, and he held onto her. "I'm okay," she lied. Dicey tried to stop himself from becoming a blubbering wreck. Clove had always been one of his biggest weaknesses.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded.

"I know," Clove replied. She nestled into the crook of his neck. "Me too."

In the darkened corner of the room, Harriet stared at him, and he gave her a brief, grateful smile before returning his attention to Clove. "We're going to be okay, right?"

"Yeah..." She replied. "We'll be smarter this time."

And though he felt a weight had been lifted, the auburn-haired man couldn't help but wonder how his mother was doing, how his brother and sister, and Clove's sister were doing. Maybe for a moment, he understood Clove's frustration. There was a restlessness he tried to combat, but for now, he'd appreciate small steps and try to keep himself down to the ground.

* * *

"About time you've come to visit, Cato," Sundara piped up cheerfully.

He sat on his brother's bunk and leaned back, "Been in training a lot."

"You missed out the other day. Oliver was telling the little girl, Almoy's girl, about how his brother is the strongest man in the world. It was pretty cute. He's becoming a little heartbreaker that one."

Cato smirked slightly. "Don't let Felix find out. I don't know whether he sees Brooke as his kid or his sister, but either way, Lolly won't last long if he does finds out."

Sundara's lips pursed in amusement as she ran a hand through her hair. Cato squinted his eyes at the roots of her hair - sunny, spoiled Sundara was a blonde! He'd always thought the Elroy genes could overcome any adversity, and Cato shook his head, annoyed at his ability to over-analyze anything.

"How is it going with your girlfriend?"

Cato grinned as Hazel tried to bobble on over to him. Just as she nearly toppled over, he swooped her into his arms. "I don't know," he shrugged, discouraged. "She hasn't talked to me since I said all that stuff to her."

"Well, what exactly did you say?" Sundara asked, frowning at him.

"That I'm going to stand up as a man and protect my family and that I won't make any excuses."

"You weren't supposed to recite my advice verbatim, Cato. Imagine how unnatural that must have sounded."

"I would have said anything, mom. She's pretty much the only thing keeping me breathing."

Sundara smirked slightly. "At eighteen, everything seems like it's going to last forever. Just take a breath. You're still young. I was narrowing in on 30 and thought I was going to spend the rest of my life alone, but then..."

"Then you met dad in a bar," Cato replied.

"It wasn't that tasteless of an affair. He used to come and people-watch and when I realized he didn't actually drink, I got scared he was picking up the drunk women, so I threatened to stand on top of the bar and expose his methods to the rest of the patrons."

"I'm sure that went well."

Her pearly white teeth clenched together in a smile. "In fact, it did. He decided he'd rather Sundara-watch than people-watch. We used to spend a lot of time talking, but he neglected to inform me that he was married. You can imagine my displeasure when he disappeared from the scene after I'd already become pregnant and had to find out more about him via bar chat with some of the other quarry men."

"And you still wanted him?"

"I wanted what was best for the baby."

"You're something else."

A wistful expression crossed her face. "So this Clove girl, for you, she's the end of the road, right?"

Cato sighed exaggeratedly. "More like every road leads to her."

"So start small. Be the support system Clove needs. She's probably under a lot of pressure. Let her figure out what's important, and I'm sure eventually she'll come to you."

"You think so?" he asked doubtfully.

Sundara shrugged, "Well, I can tell you one thing. Pressuring her ain't going to win you any points, that's for sure."

Cato groaned, looking to his baby sister with a silly face. "What about you, Hazey, what do you think I should do?"

* * *

The command leader read off, "Elroy, Exal, Malthias, Odair-"

"I won't work with him."

Finnick's eyes darted to Cato and he frowned. "Why not? I've been training a hell of a lot longer than you, kid."

"I don't work with District Four scum," Cato spat acidly.

"Scared I'll make you look bad, blondie? Don't worry. I'll go easy," Finnick winked.

Cato crossed his arms. "He goes or I go."

"Don't go on my account," Finnick replied, snorting. "I'd hate to lose the serenity and sense of leadership you bring to the team."

The blonde's eyes narrowed and he struck Finnick so suddenly it made Dicey blink. "Woah, woah. Calm down, C." He pulled Cato out of Finnick's line of sight and gave him a worried expression. "You alright, man?"

Cato only brooded, muttering, "I don't want to work with District Four scum."

Dicey gave him a half-exasperated, half-amused expression as he pulled him away from the commander and the rest of the men. "Breathe, Cato."

"He trained Dylan Sanders. I don't want to be a unit with that son of a bitch, because when you work together, you die together, and I'm not willing to give my life for his."

"Fair enough," Dicey replied. "Just try to keep a leash on your temper and talk to me. This isn't the annex, man. We actually have to listen here."

Cato nodded. "How many insurgencies does there have to be before we run out of time and out of money? We can't stay here forever."

Dicey folded his arms, "No kidding. I say if this one doesn't do, then we find our own way out. I'm in 100%"

"Don't be reckless, Dice."

"Reckless?" Dicey teased, and then gestured to the left, mocking, "Speaking of the man with a plan... If it looks like Felix Grey and walks like Felix Grey, then it might in fact be Felix Grey."

"You ever wonder what's up his sleeve?" Cato asked, pursing his lips in contemplation.

Dicey looked to Cato, "We're about to find out."

* * *

November, 75

Cato yawned, messing with his hair as he dragged himself out of bed. As he unlocked the door, he blinked, and yawned again. "What time is it, Lo?"

"Late. Early. I don't know. Does it matter?" Clove responded quickly, testily.

He shook his head, still blinking, and gestured for her to enter the room he shared with Dicey. The redhead's bed remained unmade. "I said anytime, anyday. Maybe I should have said factored in working business hours."

He was grateful at the small smile that lit up Clove's face. She sat on Dicey's bed, pulling his sheets up around her and got comfortable. "I couldn't stop thinking about everything. I just need to understand more. Fix gives me bits and pieces, but I think he keeps nudging me towards you because he thinks that'll do something."

"Besides result in my imminent death?" Cato replied, wiping the sleep from his eyes as he slipped back into his bed parallel to Dicey's.

"I'm not mad."

"You're not?" He inquired, flabbergasted.

"Well, I'm a little mad, but that's just because you left me out of everything!"

He looked to the ceiling. "I wish I knew the right thing to say, but you're right. I betrayed your trust and that was a coward's move. I can only make up for the past by being better in the present, so that's what I'll do."

Clove sighed, "So let's forget all of that and just focus on how we got here to begin with. I need to remember why this is worth the effort, so I don't know, tell me the story of when you first realized you might like me."

He smirked sleepily, "Back at the courtyard in sixth grade and you were yelling at me for being a shitty friend to Dicey and you were right, as always, but I was too much of a bitch to own up. And I don't know, I guess something happened, because you hugged me and for the first time, I really didn't want you to ever let go."

Cato turned towards her, "Man, that sounds like a pansy ass story."

She fluffed the pillow underneath her. "I was a little older, remember when I was fourteen? Back when we thought I could have been pregnant. I don't know how, but you said everything right that day, and didn't ask any questions. Made me realize that if I ever did get pregnant that I wouldn't want it to be him, I'd want it to be you."

"You too." Cato wondered about things too far off to even conceive, then added, "The first time we tried to get together, back before the reapings, before we broke up, laying in bed, that was when I was sure."

She stirred slightly. "Sure of what?"

"Sure it was always going to be you," Cato replied.

"Well, it was always going to be you anyway. No one else would put up with me."

"Clovey, do you think when this is all over we'll ever get back to that place?"

It took her a minute to respond. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "I hope so, Cato."

He let out a small yawn and then replied, "Okay," with a smile on his face as they fell asleep.

* * *

There was a collective nervousness. She, Dicey, and Cato were being transported out west among a mixed unit of Synergy rebels and those who'd immersed themselves among the Capitol as spies, such as the lieutenant.

The lieutenant read off the command once again.

"District Six is the hub of transport for the entirety of Panem. Through their efforts, needs and commodities are not only dispersed throughout the Capitol, but throughout the districts in whole. Our goal is to shut it down."

Clove had a buzzing in her head. Why couldn't she remember anything about District Six? As she looked towards her father, a flash of adrenaline coursed through her skin and she stood undaunted as they exited the hovercraft.

She hated to say it, but she was worried about Felix. The little rat was on a mission of his own that she wasn't entirely sure he could pull off. Though, once she thought about it, if anyone needed to be on that mission, then it needed to be him.

The air in District Six was musty, stale. It reminded her of Five in that they both had been polluted beyond recognition. At least in Two there'd been clean air. In Thirteen, there was hardly any air at all.

Closing her eyes for only a second, Clove memorized every every pocket of her uniform and committed to memory the arrangement of her knives. Clasped in her right hand was a gun she'd have easily thrown to the wind had she had a choice.

The Synergy rebels eyed her with wariness and she contemplated telling them off, but focused on other matters.

It only took moments for peacekeepers from Six to lunge at several of the soldiers. The group dispersed instantly and she found a grisly peacekeeper before her very eyes. She smirked, ready for an outlet when he leaped towards Cato instead.

A faint smirk lit up the blonde's face as he knocked the peacekeeper down, twisting his arm, and decking him in the face. "I'm guessing you were the bottom of the barrel," Cato taunted. His hands then snaked around the peacekeepers throat and with a sharp gesture broke the man's neck.

"Amateur," Cato shot, spitting blood.

Clove gave him a satisfied expression, following after him into the sunset overhead. Six had been prepared, informed, and that was apparent by the number of peacekeepers circling them. Various small fights engaged.

She and Cato trailed past the encounters and towards the transportation center. From what Felix had drilled into her a dozen or so times, it was a half-mile stretch from where they'd been scheduled to land and where the real work was to commence.

With Dicey and her father out of sight, Clove kept close to Cato in fear she'd be left in Six without a way home - wherever "home" was.

Only minutes later they found the headquarters of Six (so to speak) and Cato gave her a dark expression. _This _was what they'd been instructed to encapture? It was a dreary, poorly lit brick infrastructure that should have been condemned years and years ago.

They looked at each other, knowing they needed to split up to scan the area and secure the facility. "Don't wait until the last second to call me," Cato instructed her.

Clove nodded, taking in the facility as they pushed past the doors. "Ditto, Blondie. Be careful."

He gave her a smug smirk, "What's the fun in that?"

They split up - Cato the left, Clove to the right.

In this distance, she heard Dicey call. "Back off!" Her heart rate quickened and she dashed towards the sound of his voice.

The dark-haired teen came to a sudden stop when Clove saw that the man looming threateningly close to Dicey was their comrade, 21-year-old Isaiah Exal.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clove growled, pulling him away and snatching a serrated knife from her pocket so swiftly he barely had time to blink.

Isaiah's eyes narrowed lethally, "This little bitch is still on the Capitol's side."

Clove flashed a look to the redhead, and he wave his arms in protest, "No, that's not true!"

"You're protecting that cowardly motherfucker. Don't play stupid, Wilder."

She found the cowering man behind Dicey, shaking erratically, and gave him a bewildered expression. "Red, kill him and let's go. Stop playing with your kills."

Dicey stood in place. "He doesn't need to die! He's scared just like the rest of us. He doesn't want to be here, so why are we punishing him for doing his job?"

"He's either with us or against us!" Isaiah combated.

"The world doesn't work like that!" Dicey snapped, a quaver of fear in his voice. "I was with you all along, but I did what I had to protect my family, and it took so much of what I had to join the right side. You can't expect him to change his mind in a moment. Life doesn't work like that. People don't work like that!"

Isaiah closed in on him, "Well too fucking bad! The Capitol wouldn't give him a chance, so why should we?"

Frustrated, Dicey screamed, "Because if we're no better than the enemies we fight, we become them!"

He stood shakily with pleading eyes, but Clove shook her head. "We don't have time for this."

"Well, then you better be willing to kill me, Clove, because that's the only way you're getting him."

"On with it, Holloway. You want to prove you're not a liability? Here's your chance," Isaiah demanded.

Not a thought went through her head as she cocked the gun towards Dicey. "That wouldn't go over well, would it, Red?"

Hurt flashed across his face.

She turned in an instant and shot Isaiah in the leg. He fell to the floor, letting out a string of expletives, and Dicey's amber eyes widened. He pulled the man from Six behind him and Clove stood, a heavy breath in her chest. For the first time in her life, she'd been merciful. Perhaps for the last time, too.

Either way, the transportation system was left unguarded and she had a job to do. She shuffled through her pockets for Felix's blueprints. As she boarded the train, she read over his instructions, drawings, and diagrams. She grimaced at the poorly drawn pictures, but poured over every detail and got to work on the electrical system.

So this was what he'd written in that scraggly notebook nearly a year before on Victory Tour. How long had Felix planned this out?

In the distance, she heard voices come forward, following by grunts, agonized screams, and various loud noises. Clove turned off various switches quickly, yanked out electrical wires that cackled, and flinched for a moment, fearful of the consequences.

Right as she was about to snap the last of the colored wires, she heard her name in the distance.

She darted up instantly and ran towards the sound of Cato's voice. He'd always been too proud to ask for help, and - Clove sped up, pushing herself forward without a second breath.

"Clove!"

"I'm coming!" she screamed back.

As he came into sight, her heart nearly stopped. Dicey laid on the floor, shaking, and unmoving, with Cato over him, trying to pick him up. The man from Six was gone.

"Is he okay?" Dicey breathed, his teeth chattering together.

"Probably abandoned you the moment he figured out you couldn't help him," Clove said bitterly.

"I'll take some chocolate now," he replied, shakily.

"You hate chocolate," Clove remarked.  
"Must have overworked yourself, Dice," Cato agreed.

"It'll help," Dicey argued irritably.

Cato scooped him up like a rag doll, "Sorry, Princess. Fresh out."

Clove watched warily as Dicey blinked slowly, succumbing to rest. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Dicey didn't reply, so Clove shook him. He remained still. "Dicey, focus!" she snapped. Again, he didn't reply. Cato gave her a nervous look, and shook him.

This time, Cato shook him harder, smacking him across the head. "Dice, wake up!" When the redhead didn't stir, Cato's stomach clenched. "Something's wrong, Clove. This is really bad."

His breathing became irregular and unmanageable as he stared at the redhead's lean form. "Don't panic," Clove advised, though she didn't look any calmer than he did.

Cato stumbled to his feet, running out of the Transport Center, and into the darkness. He must have passed three or four viable medics in his haziness, speeding towards the hovercraft. Clove followed on his tail.

As they tumbled into the hovercraft, Cato barked to the awaiting medic, "Fix him, and fix him now!"

He dropped Dicey to floor and the pair remained at his side while the medic worked to diagnose his condition. "Details, boy. Details!"

"Uh...uh. I found him on the floor, out of breath, shaking like madness, and I... I told him to suck it up, but something was wrong. We can't wake him up, no matter how hard we hit him."

"Which was hopefully not that hard," the medic admonished.

Cato glared at the old man, who took Dicey's pulse. As he scanned over the redhead, he looked back to the morose pair. "He's fallen comatose."

Clove's eyes sharpened in response. "No, no, no. He doesn't have any traumatic brain injuries. We checked!"

There was a sharp cluck and the medic continued to look over the sweating eighteen-year-old boy. Cato's eyes were rimmed a panicked red, while Clove's face contorted painfully and she longed to screech out in response, but there was nothing to be said.

It was supposed to start and end with Nero, and now, and now...

* * *

Callan, Halle, and Magnilda stared at one another uncomfortably. "It's not my house," Magnilda piped up first.

"You're it!" "You're it!" Callan and Halle yelled at each other.

At a second stalemate, they looked at one another. Ms. Wilder gestured for the children to stay back as she stood up. "I'll deal with this," she said stubbornly, beginning to ascend the stairs and exit the basement.

"Mom, don't!" Halle pleaded.

"Those men have taken all they can. They won't take this home, too," the auburn-haired woman replied resolutely.

Callan stood on his feet. He was the man of the house now. It was obligation to protect everyone else from imminent harm. "Ma, wait!"

Ms. Wilder turned back to her younger son and shook her head. "Stay here."

"Not a chance! I won't let them take you."

She slammed the door in his face and just as he was going to huff out another retort, something heavy hit the door. His eyes flashed with confusion and he prodded with the door until he realized that she had blocked the exit on purpose.

"Ma!" he screamed, "Ma, don't do this. Ma!"

Magnilda and Halle were on their feet in an instant, pushing against the weight as much as they could muster, but failed to budge it. "Ma!" Callan screamed, fear etched all over his face.

"Mom, let us out! Mom!" Halle called out, stricken. She shook the door, unable to make any progress. The trio worked against the door for several minutes as they heard Ms. Wilder's painful screams. Finally, a gunshot went off, and Callan screeched out higher.

He collapsed against the stairs, sobbing.

The door boomed open and Halle shifted in position, ready to protect her closest allies. She'd failed once, but she wouldn't again. Ms. Wilder called out faintly, "Babies, are you okay?"

Halle thrust herself into her mother's arms as the basement door opened. Magnilda wiped the tears from her cheeks and ran past the affectionate pair. At the head of the stairs were the corpses of two peacekeepers - one with a bullet embedded in the back of his head and the other with a protruding hole in his chest from where Dicey's old spear had made impact.

Relief washed over the fourteen-year-old girl, before several questions bubbled to the surface. Just how much did they know about their loved ones?"

* * *

He finally had him cornered. Similarly to years earlier when he'd first be assigned, this moment was private, raw. The goal was simple - using the information from the first insurgency, they'd take hold of Snow, and finally find him accountable for his actions.

Right now, it wasn't going so well.

President Snow had the same narrow eyes, snakelike and surprisingly vicious.

"Mr. Grey, I should have expected no less," he said rigidly. "They'd been a fool to underestimate you those years ago, but I, young man, never was so blind."

Felix tried to stop himself from reacting suddenly, and said stonily, "You've always been a brilliant leader, sir."

President Snow's lips pursed in a smug satisfaction, "Were you displeased by the condition of my offer? Well, we can amend it, of course. More disposable income for you and your family, more supplies for your growing talent - they were impressed in the markets - and of course, immunity."

The nineteen-year-old froze.

"Ah, yes. Terms are always negotiable, you simply must know what to ask for."

"I've only ever wanted one thing," Felix replied, doubtfully.

The president smirked eerily. "Well, let's see what we can do for you, Mr. Grey."

* * *

Cato and Clove didn't dare leave Dicey's side, even after he'd been secured in a bed back in Thirteen. The hospital was sterile and claustrophobic, but they didn't want to think of what could happen the moment they stopped demanding only the best care for their closest confidant and friend.

Eventually, they were dragged away by their fathers. Lieutenant Holloway and Mr. Elroy nudged them down the narrow hallway. Cato's father at least tried to be affectionate, brushing his son's hair back with his fingers, and rubbing his shoulder reassuringly.

Lieutenant Holloway only told his daughter that her friend would endure as they'd all learned to.

Once their children were out of sight, the two men discussed what was to come next. While Mr. Elroy wasn't a military official, he was slightly more tactful than the 40-year-old lieutenant he'd come to view as a friend.

They waited for the other mobilized unit to return home, hoping against hope that in the morning they could claim a victory.

* * *

It was only weeks ago that he and Clove had laid in separate beds and discussed the past, then distantly of the future. Now all he could think of was the present, of Dicey, of his sister's worsening health, of his mother back in Two, and whether they'd come for her following his abandonment of Golden Valley.

Clove had collapsed in his arms and he sat helplessly as she cried into his shirt. They'd never equipped him for crisis, for attachments this deep, for moments that felt like they ticked on endlessly.

Cato was so tired of being scared all the time.

The blonde didn't notice the tears rolling down his cheek until Clove looked up and wiped them away, before burying herself in the crook of his neck.

"They can't take him from us. I marked him - that makes him my bitch, and he can't die until I say so."

It was crazy to think it'd been nearly seven years since everything had changed, since he'd scarred Dicey with his brother's sword in a fit of terror.

Clove grasped his face with her palms, "We'll make it through this. No matter what, right?"

He nodded hesitantly.

Clove rubbed her cheek against his, "I can't spend another night knowing I didn't show you how much you mean to me. I... I'm ready, and if you'll let me, I want to give you all that I have."

Sudden understanding crossed his face and he leaned in, caressing her lips with his. Cato closed his eyes, intoxicated off of her kiss, and ran a hand through Clove's long locks.

He ran his hands along the edge of her shirt, tugging at it gently, and she nodded. He then removed his own shirt, capturing her in another kiss. She wiped another tear streak from his face, wrapping her arms gently around his neck.

Clove didn't bother to try to tell him how to remove her pants. There were so many pockets, patches, and mishaps that she removed them herself, remaining only in her undergarments. Cato traced the developing bruises from the battle gingerly and lead kisses down her figure, absorbing himself in the task.

He heard a gasp as he removed her bra and supported her breasts with palms of his hands. Cato continued to learn the contours of her body, before pulling her last article of clothing away.

Clove was a sight to behold. Though dusted in an impossibly high number of scars, and several developing bruises, she wore them as a badge of honor. "Wow, Clovey," he murmured, transfixed.

His hands found their way back to her waist and she pushed him off slightly. Cato looked up, confused, "We can stop at-"

Clove interrupted his babbling and leaned in for another kiss. "I want to give myself to you wholly. Do you trust me?"

And there wasn't a doubt in his mind, but he couldn't help but to feel anxious at the way she eyed his pants. Finally, he pried them off, and got closer to her level. Similarly to the last time they'd been in this position, her hand brushed against his length. This time, however, she pulled his boxers off halfway and worked faster.

There was less hesitance on behalf of both parties as they became infatuated with each other on the most basic level. He leaned his head back, enjoying her ministrations when warmth surrounded him. Cato's eyes nearly rolled to back of his head, surprised at the new development, but not at all displeased.

He let out several guttural grunts as she alternated her patterns and after several minutes of losing himself to her, Cato forced himself to stop her.

A cocky smirk lit up his face at the disappointment on her face. She wouldn't be disappointed for long.

His rough hands plunged into the most intimate part of her body, becoming accustomed to her as Clove let out a string of moans. While she was distracted, he lowered himself, and his tongue darted into her, exploring her curiously. While he could have sped up, made her scream his name (and he planned to someday, if she let him), the blonde resigned himself to returning her love tenfold.

They could fuck in the future - tonight was so much more than that.

Once she hit her peak, he had a hard time hiding the smugness written all over his face. "That was... wow, Cato." Clove ran a hand across his muscular chest and leaned against him innocently, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back just as firmly, fearful to ever let go.

But, he didn't cry, and that was a step up from the last six hours. Too much was going on, and there wasn't much he found himself willing to process.

Clove looked to him curiously, "Are you ready?"

And there could have been a million reasons, but Cato Elroy knew one thing, and that was that he was ready. He could give himself to Clove just as much as she had given herself to him, and a small pride surged through him.

He gave her a confident smirk, laying back on the sheets. Taking her hand, he pulled her on top of him. "It's in your hands now, Clovey."

And she gave him a small wink, looking equally as proud as he did as she positioned herself on top of him. As he filled her, both let out equally loud groans. She took his hands in hers and whispered softly, "We can stop anytime."

"But not yet, right?" he asked as another surge of pleasure rocketed throughout his body.

At this point, Clove began bouncing up and down, and he had to fixate his thoughts on not falling short of her expectations. Soon enough, he began to meet her movements with equally passionate thrusts.

She let out an erotic moan a few pitches too loud that perfectly summarized his own feelings.

His only previous experience had been rooted in terror and every jolt of pleasure he'd felt then had been laced with disgust, self-loathing, and agony. He'd nearly broken into a sob then, and though he felt self-conscious now as he wanted to cry again, Cato was self-aware enough to realize that despite the intensity of this moment, his feelings were pure.

Cato felt a lot of things, but remorse wasn't one of them.

As they met again for another thrust, Clove let out another moan, and he grabbed onto her to her breasts, playing with them as she led him in their movements.

With the look on her face, Cato thought he could go on for days. There was magic, a splendor that he wanted to catch hold of.

Several more minutes passed as she kissed him, running a hand through his hair, and asked how he was doing. He was barely able to muster the focus to mutter "faster," as she bounced on top of him.

Finally, the two got close, their breathing accelerating more and more out of control. He sped up, lasting only a few more seconds. She wiped the tears from his eyes, and he kissed her once more, before they came crashing down together. When they came back down from their high, Clove only panted, "Fuck."

The blonde was hardly able to resist waggling his eyebrows with a laugh, "We just did."

She gave him an assessing look in which he lifted his hands in mock surrender. "It was a joke, Clovey," he informed her with her a purposefully-innocent smile.

Clove withdrew from him, sliding up his chest, and rewrapped her legs around him. "We did it," she whispered.

He kissed her again, beaming, "Yeah, we did."

She leaned against his chest and Cato brushed his lips against her forehead. _I love you._

Moments passed and he added, "Thank you, Clovey."

"For what - the sex?" she asked sleepily.

Cato snorted, pushing off the obvious remark that he could have done so with anyone. Instead, he rubbed her cheek gently. "For being my rock - my best friend, partner in crime, the best thing that ever happened to me - for being you, for being Clove, the love of my life."

And as tears amassed in the corner of her eyes, he added with a wink, "It helps that you have a nice ass." As if his words were not enough to go off of, he groped her for a moment, and kissed the crook of her neck.

He then withdrew with a smirk, teasing, "Alright, I'm done now."

"Well, it's good to know you think I have a nice ass, blondie. Since you started our first relationship on the high note of 'you're not sexy, but I like you anyways.' Bet you're eating those words now."

Cato covered his mouth as he began to laugh. She moved off of his chest and snuggled in beside him, and clung to her tightly, not daring to ever let go.

* * *

In the night, neither were haunted by the horrors they'd witnessed over twelve years in the training system. Not everyone found solace that night, however. Felix Grey had succeeded in his mission, but something felt twisted up inside.

He'd almost accepted the man's offer, had been tempted by the snake, and that left a pit in his stomach. Once he'd come back down to earth, thinking of Nero, of his friends, of his sister, and Roe, Felix had recoiled in an instant.

It'd been too easy, and as he'd long recited, _The prime of life is the worst place to be because it's highest point from which to fall. _

The moment they left the hovercraft, he escorted Harriet to the room she shared with Clove, muttering improprieties about the next step in their plan, before the sixteen year old apologized for shortchanging him.

He waved her off, thanking himself that at least she wasn't as bad as Johanna was.

His last stop before bed was the Elroy compound. The patriarch answered the door, inquiring as to the state of affairs and Felix only murmured that they'd won.

Mr. Elroy gave him a congratulatory pat on the back, before taking him to retrieve Brooke from Oliver's bed. Felix didn't have the energy to ask why little Elroy was so close to Brooke, deciding it was tomorrow's problem, before scooping her into his arms.

She blinked sleepily in response as he shifted her weight against him. The little angel was dressed warmer than he'd been and he made sure to add that to his list of complaints about Thirteen, before kissing the crown of her head.

"Are you tired too, daddy?" she inquired with a yawn.

His heart took a nosedive at the address. While he'd have done almost anything to keep Brooke safe, he didn't want to assume a role that wasn't his to take.

It didn't help that it reminded him of Seraphina, and how she'd been without her four-year-old for nearly six months. For what little he did know about kids, he was terrified of reuniting the little one with her mother and her being unable to recognize the woman who'd endured countless beatings to keep her daughter well-cared for.

"Just Felix," he said in a deliriously sleepiness as he unlocked the door to their room. Felix placed her in the bed, pulling the sheets up around her, and then returned his own bed, doing the same for himself.

* * *

As he watched Clove's chest rise and fall, he was overtaken by what they'd done the night before. A perverted grin lit up his face and he congratulated himself silently, before giving Clove a sweet kiss to the forehead.

Cato played with her hair distractedly, trying not to let thoughts of concern for the redhead overwhelm him all at once.

After a few minutes, Clove opened her eyes and gave him a tired smile. "What are you doing?"

"Just appreciating what I have," he replied candidly.

Her hazel eyes darted to the clock and she moved out of the comfort of bed to begin pulling on some of her clothing. Cato watched in mild amusement as Clove tried organize her attire as to look the way it did the day before.

And there was a sudden clarity - she was radiant, everything he'd ever admired about her. Taking a deep breath, he took Clove's hand in his own, and she gave him a bemused smile. She gave him a friendly squeeze back.

"Clove Holloway, will you marry me?"

Clove recoiled, instantly breaking contact. Her eyes widened as she looked from side to side. Trapped, her heart began to accelerate, and before Cato could say anything else, she dashed out of his room half-naked.

* * *

**AN **- Oh, Cato. So this may be the longest chapter to date and I apologize, but hopefully most of the Clato was worth it? I'm not really the explicit writer as far as sex goes, because sometimes I think it cheapens the writing and doesn't really fit the mold of this story.

Feedback is nice, especially because we're narrowing in on the end.** Please review**, if even to introduce yourself by saying you like the story. Thoughts/questions


	60. The Queen Without Her Crown

It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood

- William Shakespeare ("Macbeth")

* * *

**Alternate Ending **- 11/12

* * *

November, 75

The moment her bare legs hit the circulating air, Clove knew running had been a bad idea. Hindsight was 20/20, right? She was half-naked, dressed only in her uniform top and underwear, and the path from Cato's room to her own wasn't one she'd mastered yet.

She darted down one hallway on her tip toes, ready to hook a left and find herself home free when she saw the morning soldier patrolling down the hallway, his rifle arched against his right shoulder.

Clove couldn't remember his name, but she remembered enough about him to know that if he caught her, she'd never live this down.

Clove scampered down a separate path, hitting the back wall of the bunker she shared with Harriet. She peered to the left and saw a mass of soldiers rising for the day. Even if the door was unlocked, she'd never make it around the corner without being seen by at least one of them.

The seventeen-year-old groaned, hitting her forehead against the wall.

Once her head made impact with the wall, it made a harsh sound. Clove bolted up on instinct. She could knock! Harriet's bed was in the right hand corner of their room. She knocked on the wall, hoping the former victor's daughter would rise and come to her aid.

Thirty seconds passed and nothing happened.

Clove groaned, hitting the wall again. Impatiently, she knocked on the wall four or five times until a sleep-deprived Harriet unlocked the door. When she saw nobody standing there, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and turned back to close the door.

"Scarriet!" Clove whispered loudly.

Harriet blinked, turning from side to side, and yawning.

"Scarriet!" Clove repeated louder. Harriet stared at her, dazed. "A little help?" Clove demanded, sticking out one of her legs and pulling it away.

Harriet gave her an intensely confused look before dragging the blanket off of her bed and running to Clove. Draping it over her, Harriet yanked Clove into their room.

Once she was home-free, Clove slouched on the bed.

"Where the hell are your pants?"

"Long story," Clove muttered.

"I can see that," Harriet replied, stifling another yawn.

"My former threat still stands, sweetpea. I will coat the walls in your blood if you don't keep this to yourself."

Harriet raised her hands in surrender, "Alright, whatever. Just so you know, Felix succeeded. President Snow has been contained. Go team, go!"

She was almost touched by the concern that dotted Clove's words, "Is Fix okay?"

"They've asked him to be Snow's executioner."

"Now that's something I want to see. Never seen a kill of his I didn't like." Clove cheered up considerably, "Who says no news is good news?"

Harriet shook her head in exasperation, and stole her blanket back, huffing, "I'm going back to bed!"

"Don't rip the skin from my bones, Scarriet," Clove retorted, throwing a pillow at her roommate. She pulled on a pair of sleeping pants from the drawer, and returned to her bed, snuggling beneath the sheets.

* * *

Cato entered the sterile hospital room, relieved to find Clove was nowhere in sight.

Sundara had warned him not to pressure her, and of-fucking-course, he had to ruin everything. Clove was going to hate him. They'd just gotten on the right track, and now he'd ruined everything!

He sat in a chair beside Dicey's bed, reading the board containing his personal information: Born 5-13-57, 5'7, 137 pounds, A+ blood type (the only A+ he'd ever have, Cato mused), 6% body fat, no known allergens.

Cato peered at Dicey. He looked so peaceful Cato would have mistaken him for sleeping if the true context hadn't been so sinister. The blonde tucked some of the redhead's stray locks back.

He couldn't remember the last thing Dicey had said to him before they left. Something stupid, pointless probably - maybe a joke, an unfunny one, most likely. A selfish streak ran through him. Dicey couldn't just die. He needed him, for a lot of things, but especially for help with reading Clove.

"What the fuck, Princess? If you needed help, you were supposed to tell me. I would've come right away. You have to know that," he murmured softly.

A groan left Dicey's mouth. Cato continued to rant, "Dice, I already lost one brother, I can't lose another, can't lose anyone else I love." He tried to stop himself from breaking the machines in a rage, "You didn't even hear the best part. I asked Clove to be mine forever, and-"

"asked her to marry you?" Dicey asked sleepily, his eyes heavy with fatigue as they fluttered open slowly.

Cato stopped, "Well, yeah, I-"

The redhead tried to focus his vision. "I hope that fuck was worth everything you're going to be paying with if she said yes." Cato looked at him, confused, and Dicey swatted him away, "Or did you not even get that far?"

Cato remained rigid.

Dicey didn't react any better to his silence. "Are you crazy! What the hell made you think proposing could possibly be a good idea? Have you looked around lately? We're in the middle of Hell and now you want to add the stress of a teen marriage to this hot mess? Use your head, moron!"

And before Cato could think of his next hot comeback, his brain processed everything, and he grabbed the redhead into tight hug, "You... What the hell, Dicey?!"

Dicey's stern expression softened, "Don't cry, C. I'm sure you and Clove will work everything out. It's kind of your thing, ain't it?"

Cato shook his head, retaliating through blurry tears, "You were in a coma, you stupid son of a bitch!"

Dicey blinked, still having difficulty focusing.

"I was?" he asked, and then looked to the board. _Glucagon. Explains why I feel so crummy. _"Oh," Dicey agreed tiredly, "A diabetic coma. Been awhile since I had one of those."

"What?" the blonde sputtered angrily.

"If my blood sugar dips too low, I get a little woozy, can't see as well, might become a little shaky. Usually better within an hour or two."

Cato gave him a nasty look, "I thought you were dying, you stupid motherfucker!"

"That's karma," Dicey shot, unsympathetically.

A low growl came from the blonde's mouth, and he said through grit teeth, "Since when are you diabetic?"

"Since I was born, I think," Dicey said, scratching his head. "There's a couple different types of diabetes. I got the irreversible one."

Cato's pitch went up a few octaves, "And you never thought it'd be important for me to know that? How many years have we been friends, Dice? It's pretty fucking shitty that I had to-"

"Cato, calm the fuck down. I love you too, alright? I'm fine. I won't be pulling a Nero, promise." At this point, Dicey looked a bit guilty, but what was the point in panicking? He was fine!

"If you're still that worried, feel free to give me a share of your color-coated chocolate. "

Cato backed away, brushing him off, and shot back, "I'm not _that _concerned, Dice. I'm sure you'll heal up just fine, actually."

The redhead laughed, and then looked at him sternly, groaning, "So about you and Clo..."

* * *

In her brief respite, Clove snuggled against the sheets. Even if she hadn't been given the leave of absence, she'd have made up some excuse anyway. Anything to avoid Cato.

What the hell had he been thinking?

She couldn't get married! The seventeen-year-old could barely make it through a thirty-second conversation without making some inappropriate comment. If she got married, people would probably expect her to act like a grown up and consider someone else's feelings for once, and hell if she was going to start doing that.

_What the hell do I do?_

And in Nero's voice, she heard the simple reply. _You do whatever it takes to make it right in your mind, Clove. _

_Oh, oh, I'm going crazy._ Clove pulled at her hair, _What if I screw everything up and end up as a teenage divorcee with some pipsqueak I don't want, and-  
_

_Screw everything up how?_

_Well, let's say I say something that makes Cato mad or hurts his feelings.  
_

_Then you say sorry._

_It's not that easy, Nero._

She could almost hear his snort, the indignant retort._ Let's be real. Cato isn't with you for your sunny personality. He's got thicker skin than you think, and it speaks pretty lowly of you to underestimate him. _

_No, no he doesn't! The first time we broke up was because I told him he was annoying me. _

_Well, yeah, Clove. Duh. Who'd stay in a relationship where their partner says they're a bother? That's basic logic, really. _

Clove huffed. _I'm not marriage material, Nero. Not everyone is domesticated like your bride was.  
_

_True enough, but then tell him that. If you're going to make a decision, you have to be able to stand by it.  
_

_But, I..._

_Lets look at this from a different angle for a minute, alright? You and Cato clearly love each other, when you two are around each other, it's like the rest of the world stagnates, and you two exist in a higher state of being. Sure sounds pretty, but do you think you're in it for the long-run?  
_

_Well, yeah! We've fought so incredibly hard for each other. It's Cato from sunrise to sunset and every hour in between. He's my every best memory and the only thing that keeps me from spiraling into madness most of the time._

_And presumably you want to spend the rest of your life with him, then, right?_

_I always hoped so. I didn't need a happily ever after. I just need him. _

_Then what is a piece of a paper, really? It doesn't change you. Your marriage is up to you. Your relationship is your decision. I kept telling Aniston we'd tie the knot the moment the war was over, and man, I wish I hadn't waited so long. I kept thinking I had all the time in the world, but I didn't, you don't, he doesn't. Enjoy each other - whether you get married or not, but don't get stuck in the same circular line of reasoning, and fall apart. _

She froze, digesting the information, and huffed out in frustration, _What the hell do I do?_

_You do whatever it takes to make it right in your mind._

* * *

"Good to hear you're doing better, Dicey. You scared a lot of people," Harriet said with a cheery smile as she entered his hospital room. Felix knit his brows.

Dicey gave her a tired smile. "Not Soldier Wilder anymore?"

Harriet stumbled on her words, "I'm sorry. I-"

Dicey grabbed her hand. "It was a joke, Firecracker." He let go and Harriet eyed her hand for a moment, his touch still lingering. "Thanks for coming, s'nice of you. Clove hasn't even managed that much."

"How do you two know each other?" Felix balked.

"We're friends," Dicey told him, and then looked to Harriet. "You know Felix? I mean, I knew you were a Synergy rebel, but how'd you end up in the combat unit?"

Felix gave him an even stranger look. "The half-pint is Lyme Welsh's daughter, or have you never watched three seconds of television before?" The raven-haired man smirked at the look on Dicey's face, adding, "But I guess she'd be a pretty shitty body language interpreter if she gave away trade secrets."

"Felix, fuck off."

"Oh, whatever. Don't throw a bitch fit." Felix said, rolling his eyes as he headed towards the door, "I'll be back to check in on you later. Try not to die while I'm gone."

After Felix closed the door behind him, Harriet became rigid. Oh, that definitely was not a good look.

"I'm giving you three seconds to explain, and if I find out you were using me for information, you won't even live that long," Dicey remarked icily.

She buried her feelings. "I didn't even know you were someone to obtain information from, promise. It was just nice to have a companion, Soldier Wilder."

So that was how she was going to play it? Fine with him.

Dicey gave her a dirty look, "I knew there was something up with you from the moment I first saw you, but I took a chance. Don't feed me bullshit."

The wavy-haired brunette remained stoic. "Is it so hard to believe I wanted a friend? I have feelings, being a body language interpreter doesn't change that."

He racked his brain for where he'd seen her before.

"You're the under-21 commander," Dicey realized, thinking back to when he'd been a Capitol soldier protecting some pitiful governmental official. "Oh, fuck, how could I've been so stupid as to let you use me like-"

"No!" Harriet shouted, and leaned in, giving him a kiss - her first kiss, a sloppy kiss.

He pulled away harshly, pushing her off, and she swung away, flushing hotly. "I'm sorry, I-"

"It might surprise you to find I'm not that easy," Dicey growled angrily. "Talk."

She looked awfully small as she explained, "I like you a lot and obviously I misread a lot because I was really hoping, ugh, I'm just stupid. Let's leave it at that."

He balled his hands in frustration, "Well what good is me liking you? None of it was real. You were playing me like a banjo, a guitar, whatever fucking cliché makes most sense!"

Harriet looked torn. "No, I wasn't! No one has ever liked me for just being me, but you did. You were willing to be my friend when no one else was, and by the time I realized who you were, I couldn't risk losing your friendship! I've never had friends, only subordinates and commanders, and..."

She looked ready to cry.

"Newsflash, I'm not a good person, Harriet! I'm not a nice guy, not someone you should like. You have no idea what I've done, what I've seen! You're just a kid."

Her eyes turned to slits, surprising him. "No, I'm not! I wish everyone would stop treating me like I am. Do you know how cheap life gets when you're trained to read lies and people continue to lie to you anyway? I've heard some pretty horrible stories, but I keep my head up, and work through it!"

She sighed, resigned, "It's never going to matter how old I am, because you're never going to let anyone in, anyway."

Anger rose in Dicey's chest. "You want horrible? I'll give you horrible - When I was your age, I got a girl pregnant, and when she told me, I told her to take an herbal mix or do whatever she had to to get rid of it. I begged her to deal with it, but she refused, so I took matters into my own hands."

"I planned it so perfectly, too, made Ashleigh think I was going to offer her my hand in marriage, and then when we were alone and she smiled at me, I slammed her to the ground, and gutted her stomach until she was unrecognizable, and you want to know the best part? She'd actually thought I'd come around, but no, I hadn't, because I'm not a good person. Don't tell me you like me, because you don't know the things I've done-"

Harriet let out in a shaky breath, "I'm sorry you had to do that."

Dicey was confused, didn't understand what was happening until he realized he was shaking uncontrollably. "Girls are disposable to me. It's like Clove said - I fuck em and throw em away. I'm not a good guy, so why the hell would you think it's a good idea to like me! I'm not, I..."

He couldn't catch a breath, the panic rising in his chest. "Can't-breathe."

Sobs wracked his frame and he collapsed into her arms.

"This is all so fucked up," Dicey coughed. "Ashleigh's the one who's dead, and the baby, and you're pitying me! Don't make me the victim, because I'm not."

And she thought of what her mother often told soldiers, finding it oddly befitting for the situation. "You are not your past, or at least you don't have to be."

He continued to cry into her shirt.

"I can't say I know the answers to your healing, but I want to be there to help you when you need it."

"I don't deserve your healing."

Harriet rubbed his back in a soothing motion, "I can't heal you, Dicey. You have to heal yourself, but I'm willing to listen, to lend an ear, or a hand." She laid him back in the bed, steadying him, and brushed her fingers across his shoulder. "Don't underestimate your power to change things. You're stronger than you know - you showed mercy to the conductor from Six because you wanted to fight on your own terms, and I find that admirable."

"Doesn't change anything. I'm still a bastard."

Harriet gave him a melancholy smile, "Maybe, but at least you're self-aware. Sorry I kissed you. You're right. It wasn't fair of me to try to scam my way out of fessing up."

He looked like a dead man walking as he replied, "I have so much baggage of my own to deal with before I can get to a place where I can think of being with anyone. Sorry."

Stretching her arms, Harriet looked at him with a quirky smile. "Stop saying sorry. Focus on getting to a place of self-acceptance and self-care, and once you like yourself, then maybe you can think about liking me. I don't want to inhibit your growth by stunting you with a romantic pursuit you're not ready for."

Part of him was hurt by the way she spoke, because it was so unlike her - the her he knew, at least. Knowing the truth added a dimension of depth to her, and he understood how she'd finished school early, but it still stung. She was scary wise and prophetic, hidden behind the mask of a happy-go-lucky teenage girl. Damn if he didn't like her still, despite that.

But, he couldn't help but think she was spectacular in an ordinary way, so why risk corrupting her? He was irredeemable.

* * *

"This food looks like animal droppings," Felix complained as they processed through the line. He nudged Brooke forward as she stood, trying to figure out what she wanted. _It all sucks, B. It. all. sucks.  
_

Dicey nodded in grim agreement, "No wonder I ended up hypoglycemic."

"No, you ended up hypoglycemic because you neglected to inform any of us that you have diabetes, and then ran off trying to save some semiconductor from Exal," Cato corrected impishly, flicking his head.

Felix gave him a wide grin, "I would have shot Exal in a heartbeat, given the chance. He's been such a stiff since we first met, fresh off the truck in Two North."

The redhead stifled a laugh, "Pretty sure he's going to tear out my spleen whenever he sees me next. He didn't like me much to begin with."

"Well, then it's a good thing you don't need it to live. Although I wouldn't say the same about your spine if you ever pull something that risky ever again," Cato threatened.

Felix continued to nudge Brooke forward, and she turned to him, placing her hands on her hips defiantly. He gave her a warning glance, daring her to act out, "So... Nee knew, didn't he?"

Dicey took pause as Cato and Felix both watched him.

"Yes," he gave them both a look before they interrupted him. "But only because he caught me with my insulin back in second grade. It had to be the son of a fucking nurse, too. I threatened to stab him in the throat, but I don't know why I bothered, because he became like a hover parent worrying about me, so I made fun of him in hopes he'd back off. Course that didn't go so well, because then I caught the wrong end of one your right hooks," Dicey finished, shoot a dirty look at Felix.

Felix shrugged.

"Dicey!" they heard in the distance, and then were overrun as Clove sped past them and pulled the redhead into an embrace. Tears streaked down her cheeks, and Dicey looked down, confused.

"Uh, hey, Clo," he said, rubbing his hair.

She gave him a vicious glare, repeating, "Uh, hey, Clo?"

Felix looked utterly entertained, snorting, "Oh, was I supposed to inform H that you weren't dead? My bad."

"You're an asshole," Clove informed Felix, her voice muffled by Dicey's shirt. The redhead gave her a bemused smile, petting her hair for a moment, and holding her. Warmth spread throughout his chest.

"This is touching, Clo. Really."

She shoved him off, huffing. "Well, I thought you were dying! What the fuck happened to you, Red?"

"And leave you three alone to rip out each other's throats Enobaria Jamison style? Hardly."

"Princess happens to be a diabetic, actually," Cato informed her. "Naturally, he thought the best course of action was not to tell anyone."

Clove's eyes met Cato's for a moment, before she looked to Dicey. "That is generally something you share with your unit when you're at war, Dicey, or at least with your commander."

"I did," Dicey replied. "The lieutenant has known since the day I arrived at the military base."

This only irritated her more and she pushed him away angrily. Her glance then softened as she looked to Cato, and replied very clearly. "Yes."

"Huh?" he asked, and mistakenly handed her a cup of fruit he'd been holding.

She gave him a strange look. "I said, 'Yes'" Clove repeated.

Cato still looked dumbfounded.

Dicey smacked his side, "Yes, she'll marry you, idiot. Don't be so dense."

Cato's eyes dilated, and he stuttered excitedly, nervously, "Yes, you'll marry me?"

Felix opened his mouth and Dicey slammed his hand over it in an instant, daring the 19-year-old to ruin the moment.

"Yes, I'll marry you," Clove acknowledged self-consciously with a nod.

And there it was, his boyish smile, the smile that made everything worth it. She gave him a shy smile, not bothering to remark that there were several stipulations to her accepting his offer.

Cato turned to Dicey, grabbing his hands, and jumping up and down. "I'm getting married!"

Clove let out a dry sigh. So much for not attracting attention.

Dicey joined in on Cato's jump, and added in a saccharine, sarcastic tone, "Usually getting married at eighteen is a bad thing, but whatever. You're getting married!"

Felix started laughing hysterically, mocking Clove. "Holy fuck, this is a train wreck."

Brooke ran up to Clove, innocent eyes opened wide, "Miss Clove, can I come to your wedding?"

Clove pat her head for a moment, "Might as well, since it's not exactly a secret anymore." She couldn't help to smile in return. They could make it work, right? They weren't perfect and they sure had a lot to learn, but at least they'd learn together.

"Heyyy!" Clove complained after a minute, swatting Dicey away, and leaning on her tiptoes. Cato laughed, bending down, his lips meeting hers. _Worth it, worth it, worth it, _her brain rung out.

"This is going to be great," Cato beamed at her.

She gave him a smirk, challenging, "With you it's bound to be."

* * *

December, 75

"Are you nervous?"

"Too late to doubt my decision?" Felix asked honestly, pacing around. He looked to Harriet, "He'll be my 100th."

Harriet fixed his coat, "Nice, even number. A good place to stop."

Felix looked to her, "What scares you?"

Harriet took in a breath, hesitating, "Uh... Not knowing what to do next, being unable to reign in my temper, and being ostracized from the world. And if we're getting real specific, rat muttations with big teeth."

"You're lucky that's all."

"Hopefully when this is all over, your fears will be that small too."

Handing him the trusty war hammer, the sixteen year old looked him dead in the eye. "You are better than him. Don't lose yourself."

He took a breath, repeating the statement to himself. "Thanks, Hillary."

"It's Harriet," she chided.

"Couldn't care less if I tried," Felix teased arrogantly.

The olive-skinned man left the locker room and entered the auditorium. He ascended the stairs, reminded of the day he'd volunteered, and clenched onto the war hammer, thinking of Jade and Roe, and how he'd felt when he'd been informed of their terrible deaths.

_I am redeemable. I am. _

Lieutenant Holloway, Johanna Mason, and Finnick Odair each stood to the left of the stage - the second and third triad, and the man who'd first introduced him to the Synergy Movement. President Coin stood closer to the center, up close and personal, maybe five or six feet from President Snow, who was sitting in a chair, bound and gagged.

Lieutenant Holloway handed him the scribe listing the president's war crimes. It made his stomach hurt just looking at the numerous counts, printed in a tiny, elegant script. Before him was an attentive audience watching in anticipation. He caught Clove's excited eyes, and grew even more anxious.

There was a brief speech by Coin that didn't ease his nerves.

Finally, he read, "President Coriolanus Snow, age 76: Convicted of 23 counts of facilitating prostitution, 8 counts of murder against governmental officials, 53 counts of attempted murder by poison, as well as numerous immeasurable crimes, such as the deaths of an unknown, but certainly high number of rebels, as well as the use of threats, force, and coercion against innocent children, adults, and elderly throughout all twelve districts of Panem."

Felix finished reading the scroll, tossing it aside. "They forgot to factor in the 1725 counts of murder against Panem youth aged 12 to 18. Funny how easily our priorities are skewed."

"On this day, the 9th of December in the year 75, President Coriolanus Snow, you've been sentenced to execution. We thank you for your service."

He studied the president, who only wore an arrogant smirk, entirely unaffected. The decision of where to begin came to mind, nearly consuming Felix whole. He could break Snow's arms, shatter his knee, gouge out his eyes, crush his spine, tear out his throat...

Felix spoke so softly that only the president could hear him, "Because of you, because of the Capitol, I never had the chance to be normal, but when this is all over, I'll never lay my hands in violence on another person ever again, because I'm better than that, and should have been all along. I am redeemable. I am."

With a swift, deliberate motion, Felix swung his right arm and forced the hammer against the elder man's skull. It broke into chunks, pieces flying in various directions, and spewing a geyser of blood. The President slumped to the ground, dead on impact.

Felix panted, taking a breath, and wiped the blood dotted along his cheeks. He dropped the soiled weapon and left the auditorium, avoiding his audience's eager eyes, only drowned out by the enormous applause that surrounded him.

And he'd found a moment too late that vengeance didn't quench his soul.

* * *

Red, blaring alarms screeched.

"Soldiers, round up!" Lieutenant Holloway ordered over the noise. "President Coin and Commander Boggs have been assassinated. Thirteen's security has been compromised and we must keep our troops safe. Your task is to gather all Synergy rebels and family and descend to the lowest bunker in case of nuclear attack. Am I understood!"

"Yes, sir!" several of the soldiers yelled.

As they dispersed, Cato ran down a long, narrow hallway towards his family's bunker. Once he got there, he banged on the door.

Hazel cried out, hysterical, but no one answered. Cato banged again. Finally, he withdrew, and charged at the door. It took a few moments before it burst open, and he found his family cowering in a dark corner, his father covering Sundara, Oliver, and Hazel.

"We have to move!" Cato yelled, relieved as he helped them up. Sundara bounced to her feet, 1-year-old Hazel flapping in her arms as his father picked up Oliver, who was crying as loudly as the baby.

Cato urged him to relax, and Oliver quieted down, sniffling.

They entered the hallway, quickly descending the stairs, and retreating to the lower levels. Sundara nearly tripped, clutching onto Cato's back for support. He steadied her, she gave him a grateful smile, and then they hit the heel of the stairs. Despite none of the soldiers being dressed as much, it was clear who'd been trained in the combat unit and who had not.

Felix had Brooke in his arms, yelling at her to stop crying, which only intensified her wails. Sundara gently, but swiftly thrust Hazel in Mr. Elroy's arms, and snatched Brooke from Felix. The raven-haired man stalled his movements, trying to get a breath, and stop himself from tearing out every hair in his head.

When Dicey and Harriet appeared together, looking confused, Felix screamed out in frustration, "Where the fuck is Clove?"

Each of the boys looked to each other, before racing up the stairs one after the other. As they turned down her hallway, each was filled with a sense of dread. They stormed into Clove's room, calling out for her. A copious amount of blood stained her sheets, dripped onto the floor, and surrounded them, but she was nowhere to be found.

They were almost certain they'd find her in Cato and Dicey's bunker, but when they opened the door, screaming her name, they were displeased not to find a soul in sight. A miserable thought entered Cato's mind. What if the Capitol had taken her?

Cato ran out of the room, Felix and Dicey following him blindly. He stumbled over his two feet, hitting the floor hard, and refused to pull himself up. If something happened to Clove... Rage spread throughout his veins, and he knew in an instant each and every one of them would suffer an anguished end if Clove wasn't returned to him safely. He'd kill each and every one of them until the pain of her loss ebbed.

"Cato, pull yourself together!" Felix shouted over the alarms.

The blonde shook his head, when Dicey darted off again. "Dicey, slow up!" Felix yelled, and pulled Cato to his feet, dragging him clumsily behind himself. The redhead pushed past the door to a random bunker, before falling to his knees in mixed relief and exhaustion. A relieved smile covered his face.

"Clove!" he called out, crawling towards her small, cowering frame. Cato and Felix immediately followed his lead, getting to their knees, and staring at the paralyzed girl. She was covered in blood, but it didn't appear to be her own.

"H, what are you doing? Don't you hear the alarms? If we've been infiltrated, it's not safe! The Capitol killed Coin and Boggs. We have to retreat before they launch a nuclear attack!"

She shook her head severely, looking utterly vulnerable and defenseless, "It wasn't them."

"What?"

"Me. I killed her, killed him, killed them both, but they..." the dark-haired girl clutched onto Cato's arm, and he leaned her against him protectively.

Felix narrowed his eyes in confusion, "They were our ally!"

Clove shook her head again, "No! They tried to kill me! We have to get out of here. Magnilda is in danger. I heard her screams!"

"From all the way in Two? No fucking way, H."

"Jabberjays," Cato said hoarsely. They'd used them as a training tool when he'd been in candidacy training to become a tribute. Mars' screeches still haunted him to this day.

Clove looked up to him with haunting eyes. "Coin never planned to let us go. She was going to kill us, all of us. We were just a means to an end... I couldn't let anymore of us die. It had to end with Nero!"

Felix rubbed the back of her hand gently, doing what he always did in moments of trauma. "Breathe, Clove. Breathe."

Relentless fury pricked at every inch of Cato's skin. What the hell had the scum from Thirteen done to her?

She nodded through her tears. "She had one of the men from Thirteen take me and force me under a simulation, and then I woke up in a new life, where everyone had been taken from me, and there was no escape."

_It was dry, the sand beneath her hot. They were lost somewhere between time and space, standing in the middle of nowhere. Magnilda struggle against a bounty of peacekeepers, pleading, "Clove, don't let them take me. Clove!"_

_Clove ran towards her, when one of the peacekeepers pushed her harshly towards the ground, gritting out, "This is for the greater good."  
_

_She knew that voice. _

_"Daddy, let her go! She didn't do anything!"  
_

_His stone cold eyes met hers, the green dark and threatening, "She betrayed us."  
_

_"Betrayed us," echoed the peacekeepers, smirking eerily at her. Dicey. Cato. Felix. Nero. Her mother. Her aunt.  
_

_Caesar Flickerman appeared, a microphone dangling from his hands comically, with a time clock behind his head. Clove froze, confused, traumatized by the abstractness. "Let the 75th Annual Hunger Games begin!"  
_

_And as soon as the ticker hit zero, a massive explosion engulfed them all. The noise shattered her ear drums. Flames licked at her skin and poisoned the air. The smell of burning flesh turned her stomach inside out, and she curled defensively to protect herself from any more irreparable damage.  
_

_When her eyes reopened, the girl from Twelve stood there, her bow and arrow pointed directly at Clove. Where had she come from?  
_

_"Where's your boyfriend?" the former tribute asked, "Still hanging on?"  
_

_Off in the distance, Clove saw Cato's ashy remains, smoke billowing in the wind. But, it wasn't just him. It was all of them.  
_

_"No!" Clove screeched, covering her mouth with her hand, her heart in a stasis, the bile in her throat rising.  
_

_"The Capitol did you a favor. They betrayed you, after all." The girl's gray eyes became steely, unsympathetic, and she turned away, towards Clove's sister. _

_Clove's heart sunk, and she got to her knees, "No, please. Please don't do this!" Clove begged._

_"How many people have asked you the very same thing?" Katniss asked her, icily. Clove was silent, and Katniss repeated, "Well?"  
_

_Tears streamed down Clove's face, terrified, because she didn't know. Her silence was answer enough. _

_Katniss released the arrow, and in the distance, Magnilda let out a bloodcurdling scream, "Clove!"  
_

Cato leaned her against his chest, allowing her small figure to slump against him. But as Clove informed them, that wasn't the end, it was only the beginning as she was forced to relive the simulation again and again, Thirteen working to break her from the inside out, drive her to madness, and eliminate her as a threat.

Clove continued to mumble, "She didn't think I'd break the simulation, but that was a pretty big mistake."

_President Coin stood impassively as if unimpressed that the 17-year-old girl had broken her simulations and had come for her personally.  
_

_"All my life, President Coin, everyone has made my decisions for me: My father enrolled me in the annex, Felix, as my training mentor, decided when I trained and what subjects I studied, the instructors dictated my first kill, the Capitol tried to make me kill Cato, and when I won, I thought it was finally over, but no, see, it'd only begun. Cato and Felix left and I was forced into joining the Capitol military to retrieve him, then my father decided we would switch alliances mid-war, because his loyalty had long ago transferred without my knowledge. This was exacerbated when my best friend ushered me on to a hovercraft while I watched powerlessly as my cousin sacrificed himself, for what, I'm still not sure, and since I've gotten here, you've made most of my decisions._

_Here's a fascinating piece of information you might want to know - I'm not a patient woman, never been a good listener, and if you want to kill me, just be aware I will not go down without a fight."_

_The president pressed a button under her desk.  
_

_"Looking for Commander Boggs?" Clove withdrew a knife from her boot, "He's indisposed at the moment, but don't worry, you two will be reunited soon enough."  
_

_She tackled her to the ground, a menacing smile lighting up her face. There was not a moment of fear in Coin's eyes, but Clove knew all to well that she would fall. Her first hit was violent, uncoordinated. Coin's blood sloshed, coating her in scarlet red, and Clove relished the feeling. _

_One slash was too many, but a thousand never enough.  
_

"Her blood was the only thing beautiful about her," Clove said with a manic, sick smile.

"Clovey, it's over," Cato reassured her, anxiety stamped across his face.

She leaned against him, and whispered brokenly, "I would never let them hurt you."

"I know, baby." He brushed his lips against her forehead. "You've always been my best protector, but now it's time you let me protect you."

Clove slumped into a peaceful sleep, and Cato gently rocked her, unsteady, but unafraid to dispose of whoever came for his fiancé next. No one would ever dare lay a finger on her ever again, and should they try...

Felix wiped the blood staining his hands onto the lieutenant's carpet, continuing to hold Clove's hand and soothe Cato's shaking frame. "What now?" he asked faintly.

"We go home."

* * *

**AN** - The war is over, but the battles have only begun.

**Please review.**


	61. The End of The Beginning

Everything will be alright in the end. So if it's not alright, it is not yet the end.

- The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel

* * *

**Alternate Ending** - 12/12

* * *

**July 1st, 84**

Clove longed for an agonized scream, for a petty victim to beg for their last breaths. The exercise she'd set up was good for her visual tension, but failed to deliver in other departments. Still, Clove couldn't tell Cato that. She had promised to work on loosening her dependence on the parlor tricks, on the cheap magician's paltry efforts that kept her from enfolding on herself.

If Cato knew how desperate she got, he might actually have the gall to leave her, but he was a sucker and she was sweet as pie.

Like any other addict, Clove kept count. It'd been three thousand, one hundred, and twenty-six days since her last hoorah. By war's end, she'd murdered at least 75 individuals in the span of six years. 45 of those preceded her enlistment.

Clove had always relished the way her victims' blood splattered on impact, the high pitch as they begged for mercy, the fear each man had as they faced their death, because in the end they were all the same; cowards under the guise of a brave face.

_It was only after her traumatic endeavor with President Coin that the last thread of her cognizance snapped._

She fingered the weapon gingerly. In this tiny space, a 10 x 10 room, she was free. The art studio was hers to do with as she pleased, but only here. She was bound by commitments out of this room, and ultimately they came first.

Instantly, the dulling throwing knife hit the balloon and scarlet paint gushed down the wall, coating it in a stream of color. It was close, but never close enough to trick herself into believing it could be real.

Clove grabbed an empty wine bottle, the neighboring alcoholic's silent reprieve, and threw it against the wall. An ear-splitting shatter filled the room. It helped when she imagined it as Snow's skull, spread across the auditorium floor.

_Late in December 75, Clove Holloway was sent to trial. It was a haziness she barely recalled. _

_The judicial panel found her lacking the mental capacity to have formed the intent to kill President Coin. She didn't bother to correct them.  
_

_Clove was declared insane. Had waited her whole life for the diagnosis and there it was, in plain writing, on a legal document for public consumption.  
_

_Once the charges had been amended, the boys, along with her father, had taken turns taking her to see the listening doctor, a man who worked with those suffering from mental anguish ranging from melodramatic to histrionic to horribly frenetic.  
_

As her breathing steadied, Clove picked up the last of the pieces of glass, sorted them, dipping them into a variety of paints for ready use. Cato would love his gift. A dedication to their twenty years. Twenty years and he still made her heart race, her lips curve, and her eyes glimmer.

She went into the kitchen, steaming a kettle of water over the stove, and cleaning her brushes.

If her palms ever began to sweat, her wrists ache for a human target, then she was to implement a five minute window, telling herself she'd abstain from hurting others for five minutes. Theoretically, minutes would grow to hours, and hours to days, and eventually (at least, this was what they'd said) she wouldn't be tempted anymore.

Nailed to the splitting plywood was a hanging calendar. She removed the nail and fastened it to the proper month. Today was the first of July.

Written in the next date over, in bright pink marker, was 'Nelly's 23rd birthday! Hooray!' (artfully crafted by her sister herself), and on the following day, the 3rd (in very small print) 'Fix turns 28'.

_They had forbidden her from prolonged periods alone. When they'd returned home, Dicey was told to escort her to retrieve her sister.  
_

_And it just so happened to be a coincidence that Magnilda wore a teal bow in her hair that day, but Clove would have been all waterworks anyways. At fourteen, her sister was stunning, taller than her already, and nearly the spitting image of their young mother. It'd brought hot tears to Clove's eyes.  
_

_Callan had returned with two warm cups of peppermint tea. Dicey was buried in his mother's arms, refusing to let go. Clove had been in hysterics, hardly capable of sipping the warm beverage, so Magnilda had pushed the mugs away, and pulled her sister into her lap, gently running her hands through her hair as her sister had so often done for her.  
_

_"Let it out, Loey. It's alright."  
_

_Neither spoke of Nero, of their aunt, of what the war cost them. Only grieving together in shaky sobs.  
_

_For months, Magnilda was the only thing that could bring Clove close to normal, to keep her from reengaging in crisis mode.  
_

She sat on a stool, pouring the hot water, then steeping a tea bag. Clove jumped off the stool to raid her cabinets as the bag sank into her glass, when she stepped on a crinkly piece of artwork. While certainly not crafted by her own hands, it was equally, if not more, valuable.

Clove looked at the piece with a small smile, before pinning it to the wall, lest it fall to the ground and be damaged irreparably.

* * *

"You're out of shape, C," Dicey taunted, a slick grin on his face.

Cato leaned back, chastising, "Hardly. I'll have you know I bench press 350."

The redhead arched his brows. "Which I'm sure comes in really handy for the owner of a book sanctuary, Meathead."

_So many things happened at once when they returned to District Two. Hazel said her first words. Dicey had taken up mining. Clove entered into long-term mental treatment, and Cato learned quickly that to survive, one needed a trade to call their own. _

_One afternoon, when walking along the city line, he'd found a rundown, condemned corner store at the edge of town, right before the market. The owner had heckled him and Dicey in their youth, often accusing them of scaring away his customers by playing too loudly. When Cato had offered to buy it, the owner explained it was inhabitable, but that hadn't been a problem.  
_

_After all, it's not like Felix had anything better to do...  
_

_So they refurbished the shop, making the necessary repairs, and reopened it as District Two's first book sanctuary. Conceptually, it was simple. One picked up a book, perused it to their heart's content, and then returned it for the next reader when they were finished.  
_

_The Wagner family became so infatuated with the concept (and the good PR) that they donated a generous grant to help keep the sanctuary self-sustaining. Felix hadn't been pleased, but Aniston had stepped in immediately as peacemaker ("Just because I like you doesn't mean I have to like your family, An," Felix had spat at her, irritably.)  
_

Cato dodged left, and then agilely swung the old, wooden sword at Dicey's side. "Point."

Dicey sulked. Damn, he'd grown lethargic since ascending to a healthy body weight. At least as a scarecrow, he'd been swift.

The redhead jumped forward, and Cato slid low, before Dicey tripped him up, and pointed his wooden sword over Cato's heart. "Point."

Cato then leaped forward, slashing ferociously at the open air, but never quite reaching him. Dicey's amber eyes glimmered mischievously as he rolled along the wall, and hit Cato's neck. "Who says you don't get lucky twice?"

Cato jumped forward, pushed him to the ground, and smirked, his wooden sword over Dicey's back, "You just don't, Princess."

However, while he bragged, Dicey turned around, swung, and then beamed, victorious, "Don't be arrogant, C."

Easing up, Cato threw him a water bottle. "Good work, Dice."

_Dicey had immersed himself in work. Any work. Mining stone, laying bricks, developing blueprints. Anything to keep himself from wasting into nothingness. _

_In an ideal world, he'd have been a peacekeeper - a real peacekeeper, not a violent fool of a man hiding behind a leather whip and a twenty-year life sentence. Still, he saw the way his sister looked at them, the way her hands shook unwillingly when she passed one in the market, and the tremble in her shoulders made him regret ever having considered the choice. _

_Years passed, and he explored a very diverse line of work until the year 80, when Felix was nominated as Region Leader of Two West, serving a similar role as one might expect of a mayor in a smaller district.  
_

_Once he'd gotten comfortable in his role, Felix had asked Dicey if he would be interested in the position of 'commissioner' as part of his 'crime-reduction task force'. The redhead had been, naturally, suspicious. And when he'd said as much to Felix, the young man had shrugged. _

_"You've taken so many odd jobs over the years that everyone knows you, and you're one of the only people I know who actually cares about others without expecting anything in return. When you do something, you give it your whole heart, and that's what I want in this position. I want someone who cares about the people in Two West, not someone who will throw the poor to the dirt and allow the wealthy to glide on by without recourse."  
_

_Flattery got Felix everywhere.  
_

_Dicey's responsibility became to enmesh himself into the community and find why laws were being violated, what services were failing to be provided, what behaviors they'd been encouraging in their youth, where the highest areas of crime were.  
_

_His job, in other words, was to be a source of community support. _

_Though, it was difficult to see so many of the ex-trainees with an abundance of energy and nowhere to expel it. Some had been designated as 'criminals' under Felix's reign, as the raven-haired man had outlawed non-consensual sex (for any age, not just twelve and under), murder (against anyone, not just political officials), violence against children, against animals, against anyone, except to protect oneself and others, and yet, at the same time Felix's office had loosened the reigns on laws and sentencing for petty crimes.  
_

_It was only by irony that the training annex had been converted into a community center for youth, funded in part by Felix's own supplementary income, and a generous (and how Felix hated it so) grant from the Pittman Quarry.  
_

_The tensions had eased, but only little by little.  
_

Dicey took a sip of water, and then reached into his duffel, throwing an old paperback novel at the blond. "One of our neighborhood thieves thought you might be interested in that."

Cato held the book, "The Great Gatsby? Me and your town thieves should work something out. It's a collectible. Tell them to stay out of trouble and maybe I'll give em' a job."

The redhead snorted, "Yeah, you do that, and let me know what to do if this town is suddenly overrun by over-educated thieves."

"Easy, Dice. You get them to work for you instead of against you."

* * *

Oliver wasn't sure if this was the best idea.

Still, with the ragtag team behind him, he didn't have much of a choice. More trail mix spilled to the floor and he got to his knees, scooping most of it up, before giving the assailants a dirty look.

The door knob shook and he took a breath. Too late to regret his choice now.

Cato and Clove entered in a bedraggled state, as if they'd somehow forgotten what day it was. Dicey gave the group a half-apologetic shake of the head.

_Before Clove had been kidnapped, she laid out several stipulations to accepting Cato's proposal._

_First, they were going to have a long engagement - five years, so she'd safely be out of the teen marriage barometer. Cato talked her down to two years. Second, he had to re-propose when they hit that point. Third, they were going to maintain a very open line of communication. And fourth, there'd be no ceremony until they returned to Two West. Last of all (this had been added in later), she'd be allowed to stab Felix in the throat if he so much as made a peep about her outfit the day of the ceremony. _

_When they returned home, Cato tried to be the support system Clove needed, but found he couldn't do it alone. Asking for help had been one the hardest things he'd ever done.  
_

_ On a particularly good night, about a year after they returned, Cato and Clove had been leaning against each other, her sketching, and him nose-deep in a novel, when she had turned to him, and said, with an affectionate grin,"Let's do something crazy. Let's get married."  
_

_He'd beamed, surprised, and intoxicatingly innocent as kissed her fervently. "Nothing crazy about that, beautiful."  
_

_They'd indulged each other recklessly that night, working to outdo the other's performance, and ascend a higher level of pleasure. It'd been a night of new joys, wild, but memorable, and one that they recalled fondly. Cato had won. _

_(There were no losers)  
_

A little girl ran from behind the counter, pushing Oliver out of the way, and ran into their arms. "Happy versy' mommy and daddy!"

A prized smile broke onto Clove's face as she swooped up the girl into her arms, "Happy 'versy' to you too, baby."

The two rubbed cheeks affectionately.

_The duo got hitched on July 1st, 77, still young at a blossoming 19 and 20 years of age. Clove hadn't broken the teen marriage threshold, but for once she didn't care. _

_Or at least, at first, she hadn't cared. On their first anniversary, the dark-haired woman had finally surpassed her teen years, but not without a new companion, two-month old Calliope Elroy, a dark-haired, blue-eyed addition to their family.  
_

_On their first anniversary, Clove hit rock bottom. Or, maybe, the first bottom of many rock bottoms. _

_"I can't be someone's mom, Cato! I can barely take care of myself," Clove had screamed at him through tears, rocking back and forth as the baby wailed in the background. Clove screeched at the infant to shut up and grabbed a handful of hair, "I told you I wasn't good enough. I told you!"  
_

_Cato had given her a look of fierce dismay, "Pull yourself together, Clove!"  
_

_As Clove had looked away, Cato picked up Calliope and taken her to the other room. When he returned with the infant asleep and a look of fatigue in his eyes, Clove had averted her eyes in shame. "I want to get better," she had told him quietly.  
_

_He'd sat beside her, still overwhelmed, scared, "Have you talked to the listening doctor about it?"  
_

_"I don't need his help."  
_

_Cato only shot back grimly, "We all need help, Clove."  
_

_I need help, he'd thought.  
_

_She'd looked up to him, angry tears in her eyes, "Just say it - you regret marrying me."  
_

_"That's not true, but you're being selfish! Look at her, look at our daughter. She's our greatest accomplishment and you're not willing to fight for her." Cato held her, shaky himself, "You were strong for me for twelve years, Clovey, so I don't mind being strong for you, but we have a baby now, a piece of us, and she needs us, so we have to be strong for her, for each other, because I can't do it alone."_

_The anxious tears that had spilled down his cheeks triggered something fiercely protective in her. "What if she becomes like me?" Clove asked hoarsely.  
_

_"Then she'll be smart, and strong, and loyal, and all things I could ever hope for," Cato replied naturally, "But we have to consider the fact that our baby is growing up in a world better than ours, so naturally, we want her to grow up to be better than us too."  
_

_Clove had wrapped herself around him.  
_

"Did you plan this?" Cato asked fourteen-year-old Oliver, who looked utterly unenthused by the plethora of attendees.

Cato pointed at the lopsided streamers hanging from wall to wall, which looked pretty half-assed compared to the feast sitting upon the kitchen table.

Hazel ran up to Cato, hugging him. He picked her up as she informed him, "Mommy helped!"

Sundara didn't look like she wanted any credit for the mess, nor did Mr. Holloway or Mr. Elroy, who both looked like they'd rather be anywhere than a room full of kids.

_Lieutenant Holloway had been one of their best supporters._

_"See, they try to pretty it up. Having a kid is messy and fucking terrifying. You have this ten pound creature that cries and shits and needs you to stay alive, and you're scared you're going to fail them, then you add all the 'new parent paranoia' on top of it. 'What if she trips and breaks her leg?' 'What if some boy fucks her up?' 'What if she's eaten by a bear muttation?' 'What if she's kidnapped or killed or...'"  
_

_Cato had gone into internal panic-mode in like 3.2 seconds. He didn't want to think of Calliope in any of those precarious situations. _

_Lieutenant Holloway had glared at him for his weakness.  
_

_But Clove hadn't seemed scared. They were birds of a feather, those two.  
_

_And slowly but surely, Lieutenant Holloway had coached his daughter on how to parent, showing her how to bathe, and clean, and hold the child without losing your sanity, proving that in the long-run, he'd been a pretty okay father himself. _

_There were few hugs, compliments, or kind words - it just wasn't the Holloway way - but you could see the pride in his face as he watched his daughter hold his granddaughter silently, tears springing as she really looked at her daughter for the first time.  
_

_He'd only wrapped his arm around Clove and smirked at the yawning infant.  
_

"Mama, mama," Calliope chattered excitedly, "Coriander and I made trail mix with Lolly!"

"Really?" Clove asked, her eyes darting to the floor. Oliver folded his arms, daring her to make a complaint. Coriander came out from behind Magnilda's leg, who'd prodded him along, and handed Clove a translucent bag of trail mix, tied together by a spectacular teal bow.

_Just as Clove had grown increasingly confident in her ability to dote on her growing daughter, she fell pregnant again. Once it'd been confirmed, Clove locked herself in their bedroom, refusing to come out.  
_

_The doctors had said she couldn't become pregnant while breastfeeding. _

_They'd lied, just like everyone else.  
_

_When Cato had finally gathered the nerve to sneak in beside her and whisper to her under the blanket of darkness, Clove had relayed fears of failure, of hating their second child just as she had initially been with Calliope. Cato had been too afraid to ask if she'd truly hated their daughter initially, too afraid of the answer to even dare.  
_

_And while she told him it was the second chance she'd always wanted, it was not at all when she'd wanted it._

27-year-old Felix sat in between Halle and Harriet, the sleeves of his suit rolled up. Though a public figure, it'd take something special for him to wear his clothes the way his publicist pleaded with him to.

He wasn't old money, so why bother pretending he was? That was Aniston's responsibility as his executive project manager, not his.

The raven-haired man smirked at Clove as she accepted the bag of trail mix from her son.

_She'd called 22-year-old Felix over, telling him in anxious, excited breaths. "Let's go hunting."  
_

_Maybe he'd been a touch gullible, thinking they could tell Clove not to kill and expecting her to comply. They'd been halfway out the door when he'd heard the infant's wails.  
_

_"Where's Cato?" he'd asked.  
_

_"Work."  
_

_"And your father?"  
_

_"Why does it matter?" Clove spat poisonously. _

_He'd folded his arms, "Who's watching your daughter?"  
_

_Clove had barked, "Whatever, we'll bring her along!"  
_

_And so the three had embarked into the desert. _

_There was a man dangling from one of her traps. As Clove had begun to cut down the rope, Felix had clenched his hands around her wrists, and yelled at the victim to run. Clove had screamed in frustration, smacking him across the face, and he'd forced himself not to hit her back, effectively relapsing himself.  
_

_"What the hell did you do that for?"  
_

_"Were you ever 'clean'?" he'd demanded.  
_

_Her eyes had narrowed lethally, "What's the point? It hasn't made me happier. I'm the punchline to every joke you ever made. Twenty-years-old and pregnant with my second baby in two years. I'm a screw up, and I'm going to ruin this one just-"  
_

_Felix's animosity had ebbed only a little, and he'd pulled her back, quietly arguing, "No, E, you're not. You won the Hunger Games, won the war, got married, and had a child. I'd say that's a pretty fucking successful life."  
_

_"Who cares?" Clove fumed.  
_

_He'd arched his brows, suddenly heated, "And despite what you have, you're still ungrateful."  
_

_Felix then clarified, the hot air suffocating him, "My parents died when I was eight. Your dad fought a war for your freedom. My sister and niece were ripped away from me. Your sister is almost done with high school. My best friend died, died by someone I'd trusted, and yours lives across the fucking street from you. Me, I can't even go to bed without three layers of clothing, because being naked is being vulnerable and I learned a long time ago that when I get soft, I get hurt. You... you're fucking married, and in love, and have someone who loves you unconditionally.  
_

_And best of all, while Snow might have threatened Magnilda, he sure as hell never put his words into action. He could have put Magnilda against Nero, but he didn't. Instead, I had to watch as Nee and Brooke stood side-by-side on stage as they were reaped for the Quell. And damn if I don't miss Nee even more, because he let Brooke go. He let me save her even though he didn't believe me at the time, and by the time he did, he was half-dead, bleeding to death in your father's arms. And I spend every day thinking about how much of an ass I was to him, how I should have been more appreciative, and fair, so, sorry if I'm a little short of pity for you."  
_

_The anger written across her face didn't register, and he didn't care. Felix picked up Calliope's carrier, and looked to her.  
_

_"Just because bad things happened to you doesn't mean my life was a cakewalk!" she replied acidly.  
_

_"No, but if I can stay clean, so can you. You've always had a stronger will than any of us. But whatever, give up. It's not my problem, and it's not my place to stop you, but I hope you think about the blood staining your fingertips and how easily it could be someone you love, because every victim we've ever had was someone's child, someone's brother, sister, mother, uncle, cousin, friend, someone to someone else, and we took that from them."  
_

_"Sorry I'm not fucking perfect like you. Sorry I am tempted, and-"  
_

_He let out hot air, "Don't act like I'm some saint. I killed 1/3 of the contestants in the 73rd Hunger Games, killed President Snow, killed one hundred fucking people, which is more than you ever did." Felix then added, "Do you know how easy it'd be to crack someone's skull every time they tell me I'm a dirty coward for helping to eliminate the games? How easy it'd be to wrap my hands around some asshole's neck when he cuts me off in line, or tries to start something with me? But I resist. That's what we do. We resist by thinking of all the things we have to lose by giving in!"  
_

_He turned away, a redness across his cheeks, and Clove yelled out, "Where the hell are you going?"  
_

_"When Cato comes home, tell him I have the baby. Hell, if I'm letting you make her a victim of your relapse too."  
_

_"Felix!" she'd screeched on in return, but he'd left her in the uninhabited, dry desert, and she'd fallen to her knees.  
_

As Cato held his kid sister in his arms, grinning, she'd wrapped her arms around his neck, and tattled sweet nothings about Oliver.

He laughed, amused at his siblings' antics, and then pat his son on the head, smiling at him warmly. Clove had given him an equally kind smile. Cato's heart always accelerated at the her stunning smile, because it was so precious, so rare, as if you were someone special to be able to coax one out of her.

_She'd stayed clean, resisting by sitting outside of old school #76, and recalling their best moments._

_Clove later sought the help she needed. It was days like that she missed Nero most.  
_

_Clove became determined to make it through her second pregnancy with her head held up high, and for the most part she did. Coriander Elroy was born two months premature on April 6th, 79, eleven months after his sister. _

_He'd been so small, so vulnerable, Clove had been terrified of breaking him, of losing him, and that itself had been motivation for her to protect her newborn son with all that she had, but that didn't stop her from doting on her daughter. She carried both in her arms, and kissed them good night, cherished them them together, and soothed their cries._

_On their second anniversary, Cato and Clove had two small miracles. They'd jokingly (but also rather seriously) promised each other not to add a third baby by their next anniversary.  
_

_That was a promise that stuck.  
_

"Happy versey, mommy."

Clove enclosed her arms around the five-year-old, picking him up along with Calliope, "Happy 'versey' to you."

"Are you going throw me a party on our 'versy'?" Mr. Elroy asked Sundara.

She scoffed lightly, "Don't hold your breath, Orion."

"Mommy and daddy are experts in versies, grandpa! They got a date versy, a marriage versey, an engagement versey, and even a best friend versy!" Calliope informed him, her blue eyes bright.

Felix, Callan, Oliver, Mr. Holloway, and Mr. Elroy snorted simultaneously.

"How about an anniversary of the day you two went soft?"

"Least I don't have an anniversary with my hand," Clove retorted. Cato had smirked in response.

Felix shrugged, unaffected. "Gets the job done."

"As charming as that exchange was, who wants dinner?" Sundara rang out cheerfully.

* * *

After getting enough food to satiate themselves for a few minutes, six-year-old Calliope walked up to Dicey, and jumped up, "Hey, Silas, want to play?"

"Silas can't hear you, honey." Silas looked up to his father, his chestnut eyes curious. "Besides, he just ate, I don't want him to run around and throw up."

_Months after his son had been born, Felix had made the oh-so-tactful remark of, "Do you think your son is deaf because you gutted your previous kid and this is some twisted form of cosmic retribution?"_

_For the first time, Dicey found himself unprovoked by the raven-haired man's crass accusations. "He's got ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, and the world's best smile. If anything, he's the universe's way of sending me back some good energy."  
_

"Calli, go grab the ball from your bedroom and bring it back. He'll understand you, then," Cato replied.

"Okay!"

Dicey glared at Cato. "I don't want Silas to get sick."

Cato rolled his eyes. "You are being ridiculous. Your son is deaf, not terminally ill. Now stop being a bitch and let him play, Princess."

Calliope returned with Coriander and a bouncy ball in tow. "Mrs. Dicey's wife, can you tell Silas that I want to play with him?"

_It took Dicey a long time to accept the things he'd done. In a way, he'd never be able to fully forgive himself.  
_

_It took a good listening doctor and some leeway to make any progress.  
_

_His mother couldn't understand why he'd failed to pursue the girl he was so clearly infatuated with when he'd pursued lesser affections at the drop of a hat in his younger days.  
_

_They duo went from friends to engaged with no in-between. There was no dating, no second kiss, no forewarning that Dicey was going to up and return one afternoon with an engagement ring.  
_

_"Don't people usually date first?" 20-year-old Harriet had stuttered, her eyes wide.  
_

_"Do you want to date?" he replied with a self-conscious shrug, looking absolutely bewitching, the kindness in his eyes lulling her in.  
_

_"Is this really happening?" she'd replied, still stunned.  
_

_He rubbed at his nose, "I mean, maybe, I'm just... I didn't mean to pull a Cato, I just-"  
_

_Harriet had leaned in on her tip toes, kissing him, and he'd returned the gesture. "I hope that means 'yes'"  
_

_In the spring of 79, following Coriander's birth, Harriet Welsh and Dicey Wilder became engaged, and in the fall they married. Silas Wilder was born on December 24th, 80.  
_

Harriet relayed the request to her son in sign language. He jumped from Dicey's lap, smiling bashfully, and joined the other two children, sitting to the side of the room, and rolling the toy together.

"Where's the wifey?" Dicey asked.

"Whose?" Felix asked, counting his friends on a single hand.

"Quarry girl, Felix. Where's Quarry Girl?"

"I'd marry you first," he shot back.

Magnilda snorted.

Felix and Aniston were nearing in on thirty and were going to spend the rest of their lives alone. Well, okay, he was going to spend the rest of his life alone. Aniston would likely be snatched up by some rich bachelor and he'd end up the 'creepy uncle no one likes'. It was a highest evolution of 'the friend no one likes.'

Clove smirked, "She only wakes you up for work, manages your day, and helps you with your errands - definitely not wife material."

_Though Brooke had "subtly" tried to encourage him and Aniston together over the years, he'd been forced to take her aside and explain that though he was fond of Aniston (it left a bad taste on his tongue to admit it), and would never let anyone hurt her, that that was his limit.  
_

_Aniston had become his partner, working to help rebuild and reform District Two. It helped being a Wagner/Pittman heir, because alongside the prestige, came the necessary influence to get politicians to listen.  
_

_When he'd told Brooke that he and Aniston were only friends, she'd cried on his behalf. "But when I grow up and get married, you'll be all alone."  
_

_It was so like a third grader to think the universe revolved around her, and he'd laughed. He'd never been in love, per say, but he'd definitely found love. "Believe it or not, I have friends, B, and sometimes they actually let me hang out with them."  
_

_Didn't they realize? Aniston had been Nero's bride, had been Nero's love, and they were looking to him like it wouldn't be a total travesty to his friend's memory to move in on his fiancé.  
_

"You don't like too sweet, say Aniston, but don't like someone who's too much of a soulless bitch either, like Clove-" Harriet smirked at Clove's threatening gesture, "But she can't be too talkative, or..."

"Or too soft, too," Cato added, "Because Felix likes a fighter."

Dicey snorted, "How some 24-year-old with a slasher smile, no trophy wife, or perfect 2.4 kids got elected into public office is beyond me."

"How have you stayed in office since then?" Clove piped up. "Your staff must down a couple of shots of whiskey before you pop in every morning."

Silas reappeared, raising his hands. Dicey pulled him into his arms and signed, "what's wrong?"

"I don't want you to be sad, daddy," the three-year-old replied. _  
_

Dicey prayed no soul ever took advantage of his sweet little boy.

"Jealous that you don't spend your day reading complaint after complaint about rabid muttations and neighborhood vandals from lonely old women who have nothing better to do with their time, E?" Felix retorted.

Harriet smirked slightly.

_When he'd returned home to Two West, Felix was back to where he'd started. Alone, in Victor's Village. He and Harriet decided they were tired of the old mold and moved out to Two West together, consolidating their funds into a house.  
_

_With Aniston as his life partner and Harriet as his confidant, Felix slowly began piecing himself back together. He still missed Nero, and still felt lost without him, but he wasn't alone anymore. He had his own makeshift family.  
_

_Felix kept Nero in his thoughts by looking to his photo on the mantle place, and keeping his kindness on his mind.  
_

Clove was about to make a smart remark back, when she heard Calliope scream, and then saw Coriander retreat behind the couch, curling into a ball. She turned to Cato, "Just another reminder to fit in my prophylactic shot."

Cato slumped against the couch, "No kidding."

* * *

Her poor prince, Coriander, was hidden in a corner, crying. "You want to tell me what the was about?" Clove asked, bending down his level.

His tanned face looked to hers, his pale green eyes glimmering with tears. "Calliope is mean!"

Clove didn't know how to rebut that. Was cruelty an inheritable trait?

_On Calliope's first birthday, Clove pulled her into the bed, planting butterfly kisses, playing with her hair, and holding her gently against her chest.  
_

_"Even though I'm not the mother you deserve, I will love you both til the day they bury me six feet under."  
_

_The tears that spilled down her cheeks were something she'd shared only with them, because even though she'd come a long way, she still had a long road ahead.  
_

Coriander folded his arms, a trait Clove was sure he'd picked up from one of them. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"She got mad and I got mad and then she got mad because I got mad."

"You know, Cori, it used to hurt my feelings when people got mad at me, too, but you can be the bigger person and not let what they say make you mad."

Clove nearly keeled over at her own advice, because when was last time she'd ever done that? Never. The answer was never.

Coriander looked unsure, repeating, "But she's mean sometimes."

"But sometimes she's nice, huh? Makes you laugh when you're sad, protects you, and introduces you to all of her friends. I bet she's just as upset as you."

He bit his lip, and wrapped his arms around her waist, "I don't want her to be mad at me, mama. Calli-Ali-Ali is my best sister."

Clove smiled, stroking his hair. He really was a prince. "Not much of a competition, little one," Clove reassured him.

* * *

"Why is your brother crying?"

"Because he didn't listen to me," Calliope said stubbornly, turning away.

"Being unkind isn't going to make anyone listen to you."

Because if it had, he'd have never endured half of the transgressions that had plagued his lifetime.

Calliope's sapphire blue eyes gazed on at him magnanimously, looking an awful lot like Clove (though the judgment reminded him of Nero), and though she was quicker to anger, it was Coriander's threatening glares that ate away at him, because his hair was the same dirty blond as Mars', his eyes the same pale green as his mother's, and in his anger, Coriander had the same inclination to cruelty.

Cato tried to nurture patience in his son, forgetting it was something he had to nurture in himself first.

_At three, Cato had begun to notice his child's insatiable desire to be a part of every conversation, every decision, every plan. He was curious, always asking questions, but to be put simply, he was also a control freak.  
_

_When Cato and Clove had had a tiff of their own, Coriander had become increasingly demanding, trying to gather more information. Cato's response of, "This is a grown-up conversation, now go to bed," had provoked a heated response from the dirty-blond._

_"You're the worst daddy ever!"  
_

_And it struck Cato how many times he'd longed to scream those words when his father had violently struck him for misbehaving, but he'd always resisted. To hear the words from his own son stung considerably.  
_

_Hate was a familiar friend, an accomplice of his. He'd hated freely and passionately, but never Clove, not her, not once, and never his children either.  
_

"It will too," Calliope argued, "Because next time he'll be too scared not to listen to me."

Cato had to restrain the anger that coursed through his skin at her words, how sharp, and calculating her angle was for a first grader.

"Cori wouldn't pass the ball to me, and then I told him he had to or I'd tell mommy, and then he got mad and wouldn't play anymore, so I told him he had to play, and he said 'no,' so I pushed him and his arm hit the floor really hard, and then he became a stupid crybaby."

Yep. That sounded about right.

Cato sat down with a sigh, and looked his daughter in the eye, "When I was little, I had this friend, and she was stubborn, annoying, and bossy, but she always helped me, treated my owies, made me laugh when I was sad, but I was like you. I got mad easily and did a lot of things I shouldn't have-"

"But!" Calliope protested.

Cato arched his brows, "Don't interrupt, Calliope. I did things I shouldn't have because I was angry, but that never made me feel better - well, maybe for a couple of minutes - but seeing her sad made me sad, too, and it took me a long time to grow up and be a good friend, but when I did, I got to see her look as happy as she made me.

Don't be like me, Calliope. Show patience and protect your brother, because losing mine was the hardest thing I ever did, and being mean to my friend cost me time I can't ever get back."

Tears clouded her blue eyes, and she began crying. Cato lifted her into his arms, regretting the blunt harshness of words.

Rubbing her back, he said, "Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay."

"But I don't want to lose Coriander like you lost Uncle Mars, he's my bestest friend!" she bawled.

Cato held her in his strong arms, and kept her protectively against his chest. "It's pretty scary thinking of a world without your brother, huh?" he asked her, softly.

She nodded, her lips still plump, and cheeks a rosy red. "Yes."

Cato kissed her forehead, "I have an idea."

* * *

Cato and Clove had never been 'mommy's boy' or 'daddy's little girl.' The closest they'd ever came were 'mommy's punching bag' and 'daddy's little killing machine.' Calliope and Coriander weren't daddy's girl or mommy's boy either, though. They were mommy and dad's little helpers, mommy and daddy's biggest accomplishments, mommy and daddy's best cuddle buddies, and mommy and daddy's baby cubs.

Cato and Clove had come a long way, and hell if they were going to let anyone take that away from them.

As Cato rejoined his friends, he smirked at Clove, remarking, "We got the wild ones."

"Totally unexpected. I mean, we were such docile, compliant little children."

He laughed, grinning at her, and grabbed her left hand in his right. After all this time, she was still his rock.

Cato pointed his other hand towards the opposite wall as Calliope came out of the kitchen with a translucent bag, tied with a teal ribbon. She walked up to Coriander, who was leaning against the wall, sniffling, and lost in his own miserable thoughts. He'd been inconsolable. Fat tears nearly rolled down his cheeks.

Calliope slid down the wall hesitantly, giving him the bag, and he looked up, opening it cautiously, before offering her a handful that she gracefully accepted.

Twenty years ago, a boy and girl sat side by side over a bag of trail mix.

Seems to me, not much has changed.

* * *

**Author's Notes** - And so ends Cato and Clove's twenty year (and 200K) journey.

I would really like to thank each of you that read the whole story and all the feedback I received, especially from some of my most regular and thorough readers:_ Anla'shok, TwilightCharmedFaie, Zoe Alexandra Morrison, melliemoo, skins, dreamyourwaythroughlife, Clato-crazies, Quinn (anonymous), Emma (anonymous), and twistedfate13. _

Leave me your very last **review** and let me know what you thought of: the epilogue, the story as a whole, but especially the alternate ending in particular.


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